


Running From Gods

by orphan_account



Category: Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty
Genre: Cross-Country Chase, Demonic Possession, Drugs, Fidds Really Hates Road Trips, Ford Really Hates Banjos, Gangs, Hippies, M/M, Panic Attacks, Prostitution, Rick Really Hates Being Gay For Stan, Road Trips, Stan Really Hates Rico, Transphobia, Weed, codes, mild violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-10-05 06:28:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 41,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10299683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: After Stanford receives a cryptic phone call from Stanley, he and Fiddleford set off on a wild cross-country chase to find the wanted man before Rico and his gang do. Unfortunately, Bill Cipher is also dragged along.





	1. Prologue: The Call

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, yeah, I know, I already have 18,000 projects I'm trying to work on. But hey, what's one more? Updates probably irregular. Oh, well.

“Stanford Pines.”

A sigh--relief?--from the other end as the scientist answered the phone briskly.

“Stanford, hi. It’s...it’s Stan.”

“Stanley?” His voice was shocked.

“Yeah, don’t you recognize the sweet sound of your own twin’s voice? Listen, Ford, I don’t have much time to talk. Just...wanted to say hi. How are you doing?”

“I’m...I’m doing fine, I guess. I have a research grant. I’m up in Oregon studying anomalies; it’s...a dream come true.”

“Good, good. I’m doing great, too. Got some...ahem, friends, some people down here in...Columbus, New Mexico who, ah, are really chasing after me. They, uh, they really got me...pinned down here.”

“So...you’ve settled down?”

“Well, if that’s the phrase you wanna use...sure. I’ve settled down here in  _ Columbus, New Mexico _ . At a diner. In Columbus, New Mexico. Using their phone to ask you how you’ve been. In a diner. Where I am right now.”

The scientist nodded. “That’s great to hear, Stanley.”

A short pause, where Stan seemed to catch his breath. “L-Listen, Stanford, I just gotta know one last thing--do you...could you ever forgive me? For being such a...failure, as a brother? You have to know, Ford, I’m honestly sorry for what I did, I...I could never sabotage you.” He waited.

Ford mulled this over. “Stan, I--”

“ _ Time’s up, Pines, _ ” a hoarse voice growled very close to the receiver, and Ford could hear his twin yelp before the line went dead.

“Stanley?” Ford’s heartbeat quickened, his eyes widened, his body clenched with horror. “Stanley?  _ Stanley!” _

But there was nothing left but the mocking hum of a dead phone line.


	2. Columbus, New Mexico

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ford and Fiddleford frantically drive down to Columbus, New Mexico to find Stan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No idea what we're doing. Bear with us!

It was dark.

No, shit, Sherlock, of course it was dark. He was blindfolded.

“Hey, where am I?” His words were thick. His mouth was full of blood. The left side of his face hurt. When had that happened?

“Shut up.” Somebody backhanded him across the face.

Oh. That would explain it.

“Listen closely,” an awful, hoarse, familiar voice said. He could practically hear the sneer on the his captor’s face. “We’re gonna kill you. It’s not gonna be fun. It’s not gonna be easy. And it’s definitely not gonna be quick.”

He shivered. He knew the voice. He couldn’t place a name to it, though. He’d made too many enemies by now.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what I did to you, but I’m sorry.”

A harsh laugh. “Do you remember me, Andrew Alcatraz? Steve Pinington? Hal Forrester?  _ Stanley Pines _ ?”

He caught his breath as the blindfold was whipped off his face, revealing the interior of a badly-lit warehouse. His eyes didn’t focus on the building--all they could see was the face of death. Or, more specifically, the face of a man he’d thought dead.

“R-Rico,” he gasped. “Rico, I didn’t--I couldn’t--Rico, I’m s-s-sorry, I--”

Rico spat, laughing raspily. “I won’t fall for your begging, Stanley Pines. You betrayed me for the last time. Now it’s time for me to get my revenge.”

Rico held out a hand to one of his goons. Stan shivered as a razor was placed in the outstretched hand.

He flinched as the blade was flicked toward his face, gliding roughly across the stubble on his cheek.

Rico did little more than laugh. “So hard to decide… Where should I cut first?” He chuckled maliciously. “Any ideas, Pines?”

Stan glared back silently, trying to look tough through his fear.

“Nothing?” Rico asked, “Then I guess it's my choice.” He pressed the razor against Stanley’s face, the edge biting at his flesh. “I’d tell you just how much this is going to hurt you,” Rico whispered, “But I have a feeling you already know.”

Stan took a breath and prepared for the worst. Then, suddenly, there was an otherworldly sound, a surprised hum from Rico, and a bloody gash down the side of Stan’s face.

The captive looked up to see a skinny, dark-haired guy with a gun. “H-Hey, loser,” he grinned with a wave.

“Who the fuck is this guy?” Rico demanded, fuming.

“Ugh,” the skinny man complained, “Th-this puta.”

Everybody stared for a moment in confusion. Where had he come from? What was he doing?

“Well!” Rico shouted, “We can't have any witnesses!”

The skinny man just smiled as Rico’s henchmen surrounded him with their weapons. “Y-yeah. Guess we can't.” Then, without warning, he fired his gun toward the ceiling, releasing an orb of green light from which spilled a purple, fiery liquid, clearly not of this earth. The man rolled out of the way as the others were caught aflame and screamed in agony. On his way out, he grabbed Stan by the ropes holding his hands together, dragging him along.

“W-what was that? Where are you taking me?”

“Science. Somewhere.”

“Why?” Stanley pleaded, panicked.

“W-well,” the man explained calmly as they made it outside, “Y-you looked like you needed help. I needed back up. Aaaaaaand,” he made a clicking sound with his tongue, “Y-you are pretty cute in ropes.”

Stan just stared at him. He could feel the warm blood trickling down his cheek. It stung a whole damn lot. “Who are you?” he finally demanded as the man undid his ropes, albeit a bit reluctantly.

“R-Rick Sanchez,” the man said with a rather smug smile. “And you’re Stanley P-Pines. C-come on, Lee, got a car?”

Stan frowned, first at the recognition, then at the nickname, but nodded. “Hope the guys didn’t steal it.”

“N-nah, don’t think so. C-come on, let’s get outta here. I don’t th-think they’re dead. We’ve g-gotta go.”

Stan led Rick to the diner he’d called from and where his car was still parked. “Good, she’s still here,” he said with a small smile. Rick opened the door and swung himself in, and Stan was about to join him when he said, “Wait. There’s something I’ve gotta do.” He grabbed a pen and a pad of paper and scribbled something on it, furrowing his brow in concentration. “There, that’ll do it,” he finally said with a grin, and ran into the diner.

He came back out after a moment and slid into the old El Diablo. “Let’s go,” he said, and started the engine before they tore down the road and out of sight.

* * *

Ford tore down the stairs and jittered the entire elevator ride down before exploding into the basement. “F-Fiddleford! My brother, he-he, he….” Funny, he didn’t remember when the tears had begun to stream down his cheeks. He must have looked a sight. “Fiddleford, my brother’s gonna be killed, he could already be dead, we’ve gotta  _ go,  _ Fiddleford, come  _ on, _ forget the portal--”

“Stanford, what’re you talking about?” He set down his mug of tea on his desk, turning to look at Ford with a lost expression.

“My brother just called me, asked me to f-forgive him, but I never got to, somebody hung up his phone and he’s gonna be  _ killed, _ Fiddleford, my own  _ twin,  _ come on, he’s in New Mexico, I know where he is, he told me exactly where he is, come  _ on!” _

Fiddleford took a moment to process the words that tumbled haphazardly from Ford’s panicking mouth before his eyes quickly widened in shock. “Oh, my God, Stanford, we’ve gotta  _ go! _ Pack a bag, we’re leavin’ in fifteen.”

Less than five minutes later, Ford started the ignition in the station wagon, necessities in the trunk, tapping his fingers on the wheel anxiously. “Fiddleford!” he called out the window.

“I’m comin’, I’m comin’,” Fiddleford muttered as he rushed out towards the car, carrying a duffle bag and his prized banjo.

“No! No!” Ford protested, “You are  _ not _ bringing  _ that. _ ”

Fiddleford put his bag in the back before climbing into the passenger seat with the instrument. “Yes, I am. Now, let’s go.”

Ford rolled his eyes, wanting to argue more, but Stan’s life took priority, so he sped out of the driveway, heading south as fast as he could manage.

“Stanford! Slow down!” Fiddleford shouted, “We can’t afford ta git pulled o’er!”

“My  _ brother _ , Fidd-!”

“Yer  _ brother _ ain’t gonna see ya again if you git us into an accident!”

Barely slowing and still very much over the speed limit, Ford continued to veer along the highway recklessly. He hated it when Fiddleford picked at him like that.  _ Why can’t he understand? _ Ford thought,  _ My twin could be dead! Or worse! I’ve got to get to him as soon as possible! _ “Fiddleford, if I stay at the speed limit it will take us literally twenty-five hours to reach Columbus, New Mexico.  _ I do not have time for laws or safety. _ ”

Fiddleford looked at Ford. If he didn’t look at the scientist’s eyes, he looked incredibly frustrated. But put the eyes into the equation and he just looked...terrified. “Sorry,” he muttered, averting his gaze to the floor, “I just… ahem, just try not ta git hurt, okay?”

Ford nodded stiffly, his hands still clutching the wheel so tight the knuckles were white. He chewed on his lip. He was sweating a little.

“He...sabotaged me. I should hate him. He tried to keep me from...my dreams. He almost did. I think...I think he still did. So why can’t I hate him?”

“Sabotaged ya?” Fiddleford asked, “That’s a pretty intense word ta use.”

“He intentionally destroyed my ticket to a better life, Fiddleford. He was selfish and cruel and only cared about what  _ he _ wanted.”

“Hmm,” Fiddleford mused, “But he  _ is _ yer brother.” He stared out the window for a moment quietly. “And we  _ are _ goin’ eighty miles an hour ta find ‘im.”

Ford gritted his teeth. “I  _ know. _ I just don’t know  _ why. _ ”

Fiddleford crossed his arms with a small sigh. “Cause he’s  _ family _ , Stanford. People do all sorts ah’ crazy stuff fer the ones they love.”

Ford didn’t reply. He jerked the wheel to round a sharp corner. The car effectively drifted like they were racers in NASCAR, sending a thrill up his spine. Courting danger was, ironically, rather soothing for his anxiety.

“Y-yeah.” Fiddleford reached up to grip the handle above the door, breathing shakily. “Crazy like that.”

He drove the entire twenty-five hours. They stopped once for food, but Ford was hell-bent, and couldn’t even eat the admittedly disgusting fast food they purchased. When he finally rested his aching eyes on the sign welcoming them to Columbus, New Mexico, he nearly cried. “Fiddleford, we’re here,” he said. “We’ve just gotta find where he called from.”

“Huh?” Fiddleford asked, groggily, on the edge of slumber from the arduous drive.

“We’re in Columbus,” Ford repeated. “I think he called from a diner’s payphone. Help me look.”

Fiddleford nodded and sat up straight with a yawn. “Okay, okay. Let’s pull o’er somewhere and come up with a plan. I gotta pee anyways.”

Ford opened his mouth to argue, but decided that it was the best idea. “Alright. Let’s stop here and get our bearings.” He pulled into a gas station. “Go ahead and use the restroom, I’m going to stretch out here.”

Fiddleford nodded. “Okay.” He stepped out of the car, thin legs weak and wobbly after such extended disuse, and walked in toward the station to ask for the bathroom key.

Ford got out of the car, groaned, and stretched his incredibly stiff limbs, back, and neck. He uttered a very quiet curse as he felt something pop and his body relaxed. His entire body was still jittery, terrified that he was going to come across a maimed, barely-recognizable corpse in an alley somewhere, the corpse of a once-energetic young man who would never call him “Sixer” or “Poindexter” again, who would never make stupid jokes and laugh at them, who would never  _ be there _ for Ford ever again….Ford choked back a sob.  _ Don’t think about that. Don’t you dare think about that. _

A few minutes later, Fiddleford returned to the car and placed a hand on Ford’s shoulder to turn him around. “Hey, I got ya some- oh, are you alright?” He was taken aback at the sight of his work partner with red eyes and wet cheeks.

Ford scrubbed at his face furiously. “‘M  _ fine _ . Just...a little worried. Don't mind me, alright?”

Fiddleford nodded. The two didn’t always get along, but he could tell what was wrong. “He’s gonna be fine,” he assured with a weak smile, “I got ya some gum.” He handed a small colorful box to him.

Ford took the box, his hand shaking, which he hated to acknowledge. “Thanks, Fiddleford.” He stuck the box in his coat pocket. “We really have to find that diner. Come on.” He set off down the cracked, dirty sidewalk, not knowing quite where he was going but knowing he had to get there.

Even at night, it was so much warmer down south, reminding Fiddleford of home. He walked along, a bit behind Stanford, hands in his pockets. “How d’ya know he was at a diner?”

Ford sighed and rolled his eyes, turning back to his friend. “Because he  _ told me,  _ Fiddleford. The only problem is, he didn’t tell me where the diner is or what it’s called.”

Fiddleford sighed. “I see.” There was a brief pause of silence. “Maybe somebody ‘round here’ll know the place?” he suggested, hesitantly.

Ford shrugged. “I suppose. It’s a good option, and probably our only option.” He looked around for a civilian and, upon spotting a young woman walking her dog, called out to her. “Excuse me, miss?” He waved.

Fiddleford coughed, stepping in front of Ford and crossing his arms. “Yes. Hello, ma’am,” he tried to catch her attention in a dour tone.

She turned and looked them up and down. “You’re not from around here. Can I help you?”

Ford nodded, brushing past Fidds. “Yes. We’re looking for a diner. I’m...meeting a friend there, but he didn’t specify which diner or where.”

“Ahem,” Fidds cleared his throat, “Yeah, lady. We’re lookin’ for just some diner ‘round here and we kinda got a time limit, so if ya’ don’t mind…” he spoke with a frown.

The girl nodded. “You’re probably looking for the Patio Cafe. It’s the only one here in town. You’ll want to head that way--” she pointed, “and turn right on Broadway. It’s right on that street. I heard there was some kind of a scuffle there yesterday--but you don’t want to hear about that. You should go, your friend might get impatient.”

Fiddleford stepped closer, his shoulder against the back of Ford’s. “Yes. Thank ya’. We should be goin’ now.”

She waved and continued down the sidewalk. “Bye, guys!”

“Thanks,” Ford called to her back, and he heard her laugh, “No problem!”

Fiddleford nudged Ford and began walking quickly toward the diner, which was luckily in the other direction from the woman. Ford followed after a split second, fear gnawing in his gut. The  _ what if _ s and  _ what could happen _ s clamored in his mind for attention.

They turned onto Broadway and walked just a bit farther to a small, flat-roofed cafe with just a few cars out in the parking lot. “This looks like the place,” Fiddleford commented.

Ford nodded. “Yeah. It is. We should...go inside. See what we can find out.”

Fiddleford supportively patted Ford on the shoulder before the two both headed inside. Inside, music from nearly two decades ago played softly for the two or three patrons at booths, eating burgers and fries at nearly midnight.

Ford approached a girl behind the counter, probably no more than sixteen years old. “Hi,” he said, “was there a man who came in here and made a phone call yesterday who looked like me?”

The girl yawned and rolled her eyes, leaning lazily onto the counter. “Like, yeah. I think so. Some weird guy came in, made a call, then some fight happened… I dunno. Looked kinda like you, but, like, on drugs or something.”

Ford sighed and nodded. “That would be Stanley. Thanks for your help.”

The girl shrugged. “Whatever.”

Ford made as if to turn back to Fidds, then stopped. “Hey, could you direct me to the payphone?”

The girl stole a fry from a passing tray for herself and used it to point over near the jukebox. “Over there.”

“Thank you,” he said again, and made a beeline for it. He wasn’t sure what he was going to find over there, but it was at least a start.

Fiddleford followed behind Ford to the old, metal payphone on the wall. Nothing seemed particularly out of the ordinary, at first. Then, he noticed a mark on the side of the payphone. “Ford… is that..?” He pointed to a drying red spot, obscuring the shiny metal.

Ford’s heart suddenly filled with lead and dropped into the floor. “Oh, my God,” he muttered. “Stanley….” And then he, too, noticed something. “Fiddleford. Look.” He pointed to a small, folded piece of paper barely visible, hidden discreetly in a crevice.

With his thin fingers, Fiddleford slipped the paper out of its hiding place, unfolding it to find a series of letters scribbled hastily in pen.  _ ULFR DIWHU PH. VDQFKHC KHOSLQJ PH HVFDSH. KHDGLQJ RU FRORUDGR LQ HO GLDEOR.  _ “It… it seems like some sort ah code.”

Ford stared at the barely-legible letters. “Stanley...my God, I think Stanley’s still alive!”

Fiddleford nodded with a smile. “It would appear so… but what was he tryin’ ta’ say?”

The scientist gave a small smile. “We’ll have to see.” He reached into his coat and pulled out a journal and a pen. “We’ll try...the Caesar cipher first.” After a few minutes of scribbling down letters, he gave a quiet exclamation of victory. “I’ve deciphered it!”

“What does it say?”

“It says… ‘Rico after me. Sanchez helping me escape. Heading for Colorado in El Diablo’.” He looked up at Fidds. “That’s it? That’s all the clues he gave me?”

“Who the blazes are Rico and Sanchez?” Fiddleford asked, confused by the note.

Ford threw his hands into the air, frustrated. “I don’t know! I don’t know who these people are, or where the hell Stan’s headed. All I have to go on is Colorado! How did he think that that was going to help me?”

Fiddleford shrugged. “I dunno! Ya rarely tell me ‘bout yer family…” he sighed, “Er ‘bout yerself at all fer that matter,” he muttered quietly.

Ford sighed and stared at the note. “Come on, Stan, give me something to work with.” He went to fold up the note again and stopped. There, scribbled on the back of the paper, was another phrase:  _ KHDG IRU WKH WRZQ RI WKH YHUB ODUJH URFN. _ “F! F, look, look at this! He’s left us another note!” Another minute of deciphering produced the result: “Head for the town of the Very Large Rock,” Ford muttered.

“Yer brother ain’t a subtle one. Is he?” Fiddleford commented.

“What do you mean?”

“He obviously means Boulder!”

Ford suddenly straightened, his whole face lighting up. “Of course! Come on!” Excited, he ran for the door, then stopped and turned back to the girl at the counter, who was staring at them. “You didn’t see anything tonight.”

The girl looked at him skeptically. “I dunno. I think I saw a lot. Unless, like, you got a little more to convince me.” She rubbed her thumb and pointer finger together.

Ford swore and dug in his pocket, silently complaining as he handed her a ten. “Good enough?”

The girl smiled, pocketing the dollar. “You’d better be on your way, stranger.”

The scientist once again headed for the door, not looking back to see if his friend was following. He glowered as he exited, the girl at the counter having put a significant damper on his mood.

Fiddleford ran to keep up with his partner, pleased to see him with some new hope from the note.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave us some kindness if you enjoyed this!


	3. Boulder, Colorado

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ford and Fiddleford explore Boulder, CO for answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some shit in here that is partially a joke and partially canon to the story. Also mentions of prostitution, so viewer discretion is advised.

The drive was relatively short--about ten hours--so Ford decided he would use that time to sleep while Fidds drove.

Fiddleford drove quickly, understanding the urgency of the situation. He looked over every so often to see his partner sleeping softly; he so rarely got enough rest. So much so that he was hesitant to wake him upon arrival in Boulder.

He laid a hand on Ford’s shoulder, shaking him lightly. “Stanford.”

Stanford mumbled something and scrunched his eyes closed. “Mmmwanna...g’backta sleeeeep.”

“Stanford, we’re here. We’re in Boulder. Remember? Yer brother?” Fidds explained.

Ford blinked. “Stanley?” He sat up, rubbing at his eyes. “Right! The code! He’s somewhere in Boulder! We’re here already?”

Fiddleford laughed a bit, parking the car outside a motel he doubted they'd need. “Yeah. Ya’ slept fer the whole drive, luckily enough.”

Ford smiled a little. “Guess I really needed it. What was it, ten, twelve hours? I don’t think I’ve slept that much since….”  _ Since I was eleven years old and sick with influenza. Stan skipped school that day to keep me company. _ He shook his head. “Not important. We have to find Stan.”

“Yer right.” Fiddleford opened the door and stepped out of the car into the largely abandoned parking lot, taking in a breath of the warm air and looking around, realizing he didn't have a damn idea where to start. “Say, Ford,” he began, “you got any idea how ta find ‘im?”

“How should I know? We haven’t spoken for…” He calculated the stretch of time. “Almost eight years! I don’t know what he’s been up to.”

“Yeah, well I ain't seen ‘im since the Lord made time.” He sighed, frustrated by their situation. “Any places he used ta like ta go? Bowling? Bars?”

“The beach,” Ford sighed, “but that doesn’t really help us here.” He paused. “Wait! He loved those old Jukebox places! He used to go to one with his girlfriend, Carla, back in New Jersey. Maybe if we could find one of those dance places….”

“Hmm,” Fiddleford mused, “I betcha the motel owner’d know. Seein’ as he'd ah’ met the tourists plenty.”

Ford turned to Fiddleford with a grin. “Great idea. Let’s go!” He hopped out of the car and waited for his friend to follow.

Fidds walked into the motel behind Ford to see an old, weathered-looking man hunched over the counter in front of the keys in a pair of jeans and a white undershirt, puffing on an unfiltered cigarette.

He stood up straight upon seeing customers. He smiled cheaply. “Welcome! You two needin’ a room by the hour or by the night?”

“Ah, neither, at least not yet,” Ford said. “We’re just looking for a pretty specific place.”

“Oooh,” the owner said with raised eyebrows, “I see. Well, you're gonna wanna go to the street corner by Walmart and then bring them back here. Two hour’s standard fare. I ain't a snitch either.”

Ford processed this. Then his eyes widened. “No, no, no,” he amended hastily, “nothing like that!” He grimaced at Fiddleford. “No, we just have a specific place in mind but don’t know what it’s called or how to get there. I guess. Um. We’re looking for...a sort of...club. I think. A dance club? Is there one of those? I’m looking for a friend.”

The man nodded. “If you mean a dance hall- least I think that's what the kids call it- there’re a few downtown. Bright lights, loud music, can't miss ‘em if you try.”

Ford nodded. “Yes, that’s where Stan’s going to be. Thank you,” he said to the man, then, turning to Fiddleford, he added, “come on. We need to go downtown.”

Fiddleford followed, climbing into the passenger seat and cranking down a window. “Let's git goin’!”

Ford laughed a little at that, and, swinging himself behind the steering wheel, rolled smartly out of the parking lot and headed for downtown Boulder and the land of the dance halls.

Fidds watched out along the road as they drove by bars and clubs of all sorts, almost all of which were dark and closed. “S’pose it’s still a bit early.” He checked his watch. “Can't imagine many people’re out here at eleven in the mornin’.”

Ford swore. “Of course, that was stupid of us. Where could he be right now?”

Fiddleford thought for a second back to what the motel owner had said. He bit his lip. “I know ya won't like it… but what ‘bout that corner by Walmart?”

Ford scoffed. “Stanley wouldn’t be  _ there _ . He’s not that kind of person.” He rolled his eyes. “Honestly, F, the ideas you get sometimes….”

Fiddleford glared at Ford. “Whatever.  _ He _ might not be that kinda guy, but what ‘bout this Sanchez fella?”

After a few moments of consideration, Ford, still glowering, silently steered the car toward the Walmart.  _ Whatever. _

From the parking lot, Fiddleford could see a woman at the corner, smoking a cigarette and wearing a short red dress under a fur coat, considerably warmer than was necessary for the weather. He approached her nervously, not sure what to expect from this sort of crowd.

She looked them both up and down and blew a thick stream of smoke in their direction with a sigh. “Twenty to see, fifty to touch, one hundred an hour and you two got a deal,” she offered flatly.

Ford shook his head. “Sorry, we’re not interested. Do you know if a guy who looks like me, but without glasses, came by here at all?”

The woman studied his face. “Take off the glasses,” she requested.

He did as she asked, sticking his hands self-consciously behind his back after he did so. “Well?”

The woman looked at him with a smile and then chuckled. “Oh! You mean Peter? Peter Steel? Man, he raked in a lot of money doin’ what he did. Haven't seen him in a few days, though.”

Fiddleford placed a hand over his mouth in concern. “Um, ma’am, if ya-”

“Call me Destiny, sweetie.”

“Oh, well, Destiny, if ya don't mind my askin’, where’d this… Peter… go off ta?”

“No idea.” She shrugged.

Ford had gone incredibly pale and stiff. “D-did he...leave anything here? B-before he...left? A piece of paper, or anything?”

“Hmm,” Destiny thought for a second, “Come to think of it, I did see this-” She drew a folded slip of paper from her bra. “-around where he normally waited for clients.” She held the paper toward Ford. “Tried to read it, but it's in some kind of code.”

Ford gingerly took the paper--had it really been in this woman’s bra?--and unfolded it. “Yes, that does seem to be his handwriting,” he said quietly. He looked back up at Destiny. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” Destiny smiled. “Now, scram,” she commanded with a wink.

Fiddleford noticed Ford’s nervousness and cautiously grabbed his arm, leading him back toward the car. “What does it say?” he asked quietly.

“I...haven’t deciphered it yet. Give me a moment.” He grabbed a pen and began to decode the sentences. “ _ Sorry...Sixer...had to do it. Come and punch me when you find Toto and Auntie Em. I’ll be at the gates of Hell.” _ He looked up at Fiddleford. “Kansas,” he said, “we’re going to Kansas.”

Fiddleford nodded. “It would seem so. I think them gates’re ‘round Stull.”

Ford gave a grimace that might have been an attempted smile. “Then let’s go find Stan.” He hopped back into the car, hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel, and waited tensely for his friend to join him.

Fidds climbed into the passenger seat, still thinking about what Destiny had implied. He didn't know this Stanley, but he was still his friend’s family and he'd been reduced to- he decided not to think about it too much. He yawned, having driven straight through the previous night, and rested his head on the window. He reached into the back to retrieve his banjo, lazily plucking at the strings as he brought it into tune.

As he aimed for I-70, Ford cringed, but said nothing about the hellish instrument, his mind still whirling around Destiny’s implications.  _ Was Stanley a…? _ His stomach lurched. He swallowed hard and decided to focus on driving. “If we...if we take I-70, I’m pretty sure we’ll get there.”

“In time?” Fiddleford asked with a strum across the instrument.

“If I correctly estimated the time, it should take about eight hours.” He glanced at a road sign. “28th Street should take us to I-70,” he said aloud to himself.

Fiddleford nodded with another yawn and started to play some old, simple tune on his banjo to calm his nerves. Something he’d heard a thousand times as a child.

Ford found himself involuntarily humming along, his muscles relaxing slightly at the sound of the simple music. After a few minutes, he turned onto the interstate, and let his mind wander.

Fiddleford smiled to himself as he noticed Ford’s humming. He continued to play for a few more minutes, the tempo gradually slowing until he found himself dozing off.

When the music tapered off, Ford glanced at his friend. He smiled gently at the sight before him: Fiddleford McGucket, completely worn out, clutching his instrument as he dozed peacefully. His eyes flicked to the other’s slightly parted lips for a fraction of a second.  _ I wonder what it would be like to… _ He shook his head tightly. “Stanford Filbrick Pines, keep your eyes on the road,” he scolded quietly.

And so the day went on, and as he drove Ford slowly began to realize how fucking gay he was. He finally started to accept that he was in absolutely no way straight. He had no attraction to females, and he had been lying to himself for almost thirty years of his life. “Wow,” he said. “I’m gay. What an idea.”

* * *

 

Rick flopped back on the bed, drawing a drink from his flask. “I-I could've gotten us money! That w-was  _ not _ necessary!” he argued drunkenly.

Stan sighed, stepping out of the shower. “It’s how I’ve been makin’ money for the past few months. Couldn’t help it. ‘Sides, it got us a lotta cash, right?” He gave Rick a hopeful smile.

Rick leapt onto his feet, approaching Stan. “Jesus Christ, Lee! I don't care about the cash! I-I care about-” He paused, looking out the window behind Stanley before quickly running over to toss Stan his clothes. “We need to go.  _ N-now. _ ”

Stan glanced out the window as well before throwing on his T-shirt and jeans, stuffing his few belongings into his duffel bag, and dashing for the door. “Right. We’ve gotta run!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave us some kindness in the comments if you enjoyed this chapter!


	4. Onwards to Stull

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ford and Fidds have an extraordinarily gay conversation on the way to Stull, all without ever coming out of the closet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, we gayed everywhere. Sorry folks, have 3k words of characters being extremely gay.
> 
> We warned you.

About three hours later, Ford realized that three hours had passed.  _ When did that happen? F just fell asleep half an hour ago! _ The road stretched on before him, dotted with shining headlights. Everything was surreal, almost like a dream. Grey clouds loomed overhead, dark and foreboding. A few drops of rain splattered on the windshield. Then a few more. Then, a torrent. Ford switched on the wipers, which activated with a jarring  _ screeeeeech,  _ punctuated a moment later by a white flash and a grumble of thunder.

The low, but overwhelming sound shook the air, bringing Fiddleford back out of his slumber. “Huh?” he asked nobody in particular as his spine straightened all too fast, causing him to hit his head on the roof of the car. “Dadgummit!” he shouted in response to the pain that quickly formed in the back of his head. He rubbed a hand over the spot, only further messing up the hair he hadn’t bothered to fix since they left the shack. He yawned and looked out the window to see the storm that was gradually replacing the sky.

“Oh! Are you alright, F?” Ford asked, glancing away from the rain-slicked road for a moment. There was another rumble of thunder.

Fidds waved Ford away. “I’m fine, I’m fine. It ain’t even a bruise,” he dismissed.

Ford shrugged. “Okay, then….” He brought his eyes back to the road in front of him. “Quite a storm,” he said quietly.

Fiddleford chuckled and settled back into his seat. “Ya’ don’t say,” he replied sarcastically, nudging Ford with his elbow.

Ford smiled. “I rather like thunderstorms. Although...I do not find driving in them to be incredibly pleasant.” He grimaced and adjusted his grip on the steering wheel.

“Oh, well if ya’ like-” Fiddleford yawned, “-ya’ could pull over up here,” he pointed to a sign directing toward a rest stop, “and I could take it from here.”

Ford shook his head vehemently. “No, you’re still tired. I’ll be fine. It’s not like I  _ can’t _ navigate a highway in a rainstorm.”

Fidds shrugged. “If you insist.” He retrieved his banjo, which had slumped to the floor by his feet, and checked the tuning again before strumming away at one of his favorite tunes. He’d just gotten the album, but had left it, along with his record player, back at the shack. He sang along quietly with the melody. “ _ Blackbird singin’ in the dead of night. Take this broken wings and learn to fly. All yer life. You were always waitin’ fer this moment to arrive...” _

The melody relaxed Ford a little. F’s voice was surprisingly nice. Smooth, but still keeping his southern twang, which Ford suddenly realized he found rather endearing. He flushed a little and kept his eyes firmly on the road.  _ Don’t look at him. Don’t look at him. Don’t you dare look at him. _

“Ya’ know,” Fidds said as he strummed through an instrumental section, “ya’ really oughta sing more. Ya’ rarely ever do.” He looked up at Ford with a smile, suppressing a giggle at the other man’s strict rigidity while driving, even through a mostly empty highway.

Ford shook his head tightly. “I’m really not that good, F. Honest.” He tried to keep his blood flow to his face regular. It didn’t work.

Fiddleford shrugged. “Ain’t like ya’ got a crowd or nothin’. Just me. I don’t bite none,” he said with a laugh before continuing the song. “ _ Blackbird singin’ in the dead of night…” _

Ford caught his breath for half an instant before hesitantly joining in.  _ “Take these sunken eyes and learn to see….” _

“ _ All yer life,” _ Fiddleford sang, glancing at Stanford with a grin,  _ “You were only waitin’ fer this moment to be free.” _

Ford harmonized on that line and broke into a wide smile. “Huh, that sounded pretty nice.” He glanced at F again and had to look away. He was too fond of that smile.

Fiddleford played out a few more chords, keeping a rhythm going to nothing specific. “Sure did! You shoulda’ told me a long time ago you had some real talent in ya’!” He chuckled to himself. “What other secrets are ya’ keepin’ from me?” he asked teasingly.

_ Well, I have a little triangular muse living inside my head who’s currently throwing a little bit of a temper tantrum right now. Also, I think I’m in love with you. Is that wrong? _ “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he joked back.  _ Damn that laugh. _

“Oh, I don’t mean nothin’ by it,” Fidds said lightheartedly with a shrug. “Just real interestin’s all.” He really did love the sound of Ford’s voice. It was low, rich, almost intoxicating in speech or song. He could listen to him talk about anything and often did, whether it be about his latest supernatural exploits or just some daily occurrence at the grocery store. The man never shut up. And Fiddleford loved it.

Ford resumed singing with the banjo’s chords, although it was quiet and rather shy. _I’m not that good. Not as good as you._ _“Blackbird fly, blackbird fly...into the light of the dark black night….”_

Fiddleford hummed along with Ford’s singing, but quietly enough that he could still hear his voice. At the end of the song, he paused, allowing the car to fill with silence for a moment, just to smile. “Yer really somethin’, ya’ know that, Stanford Pines?”

If Ford had been blushing before, it was nothing compared to the color that spread across his whole face at that statement.  _ That was uncalled for. _ “I am?” he asked, readjusting his grip on the steering wheel again.

“Ha!” Fidds laughed sharply, “Of course ya’ are! Yer workin’ on an  _ interdimensional portal _ ya’ designed all yerself back home. Not ta mention the lovely set of pipes ya’ got there.” He plucked aimlessly at the strings of his banjo, looking to Ford with surprise at just how red his face was. “Huh. Ya’ look a bit hot.”

Every thought process in Ford’s mind screeched to a dead halt as he took that statement entirely the wrong way. He almost floored the gas pedal in his shock.  _ Hot? Did he just say what I thought he said? _ Then his brain caught up to his gay.  _ Oh. I’m blushing. _ “I’m alright,” he stammered.

“Ya’ sure?” Fidds asked with a look of concern, “Yer actin’ a bit strange too. Ya’ might have a fever. Maybe tonight we oughta find a real place ta sleep. I don’t want ya’ gettin’ sick.”

Ford shook his head. “No. We have to find Stanley. We have to.” He checked a road sign. “We’ve just entered Summers, Kansas, apparently. We’re almost there.” He took a deep breath. “I can do this, alright?”

Fiddleford bit his lip and nodded reluctantly. “Alright, now. Just take care of yerself too. Okay?” He really did care for the man and was even willing admit the fact to himself, but never out loud. Weighing the risk in his mind, he determined it far too dangerous to say anything, especially while on the search for his brother.

“I’m fine.” He readjusted his grip on the wheel and switched over a lane, passing a rather large truck. The driver of the truck looked out the window at him. Yellow eyes. Catlike pupils. He grinned lopsidedly, awkwardly, displaying crooked, tar-blackened teeth. Ford gasped and turned back to stare at the road so fast he got whiplash.

Fiddleford looked at Ford, one eyebrow raised skeptically. “Sure,” he agreed sarcastically, “Absolutely fine, says the man with the worst reaction ta a smoker truck driver.” He sat back in his seat and plucked idly at the banjo, playing just whatever came to mind. In this case, it was a rather upbeat melody in a major key, fast-paced and lively. He hummed along with each note as he worked out a pattern.

Blinking a couple of times, Ford looked back at the truck driver. Normal. He sighed; he really needed more sleep. And probably to explain to Bill what was going on; he wasn’t very happy, obviously. The sound of Fiddleford’s playing brought Ford back down to the present, the pleasant tune soothing his tumultuous mind. He found himself tapping his finger against the steering wheel along with the vigorous tempo. “I like it,” he commented eventually.

Fiddleford chuckled to himself, obviously a bit flattered by the simple, yet kind words. “Figured ya might,” he admitted, “Figure the least I can do while I’m here is provide ya with a bit of entertainment.”

Ford grinned. “Well, thanks,” he chuckled, “though, I’m surprised how quickly I got used to your banjo. Remember when we were roommates in college, and you weren’t allowed to play it when I was in the room? And then when you showed up to be my research assistant, I made the rule for no banjo-playing after eight.” He laughed. “Just goes to show what a little time stuck together will do to people.”

“Well, I’d hardly say we’re  _ stuck together, _ ” Fiddleford countered, his fingers stumbling briefly as he fully grasped the implications of that statement and his tone. He cleared his throat, hurrying to fix whatever he’d done. “I-I mean, I did choose ta be here, after all.” He blushed a bit, if only slightly. He dismissed this, deciding he could just have claimed to have caught whatever fever Ford had.

_ Dammit, Stanford. “Stuck together”? Now you’ve gone and hurt his feelings, _ Ford silently chided himself. “Come on, F, I didn’t mean it like  _ that. _ We’re just stuck here together, on this wild goose chase, confined to a little car and far too little breathing room.” He smiled faintly, hoping that amended things, at least somewhat.

Fiddleford smiled back, controlling his breathing in order to dull the red in his cheeks. “Yeah. ‘Sides, it ain’t too bad in here with ya.” He laughed lightly, mostly in order to calm himself and fill the silence otherwise accented by the heavy clashing of raindrops against the metal frame.

Also struggling to fill the silence, Ford hesitated a moment--letting the rain cover for him--before asking quietly, “Could you...sing again?” He hoped the grey light from the clouds made it dim enough so Fiddleford couldn’t see his blush rising again.

Whatever previous efforts had been made to conceal Fiddleford’s interest wore off with another rush of red to his cheeks and across his nose. “Uh, sure,” he agreed quietly. Before quickly stumbling into another tune. Something. Anything. He began into a familiar guitar riff from one of his favorite artists. The song was a few years old, but still perfectly good. As the introduction neared the end, he picked up with the lyrics confidently, just as Ford had requested. “And here’s to you, Mrs. Robinson. Jesus loves ya more than you will know. Woah, woah, woah…”

Ford was smiling widely by the time Fiddleford finished. “Wow, F. Why’d I ever ask you to stop?” He hoped that wasn’t too forward. He really wasn’t good at this kind of thing. At least he’d managed to remain calm enough to stop blushing.

Fiddleford shrugged, thinking back to the days they spent as roommates. “Oh, well, ya know. Back in college, I rarely did ever practice sober,” he recalled with a genuine laugh.

Remembering those days in school, Ford couldn’t help laughing along. “That’s right,” he grinned, “I remember your sky-high half-tuned ditties at two in the morning. That’s when I drew the line, I think.”

Fiddleford leaned in and pointed a finger at Ford mock-defensively. “Hey. There is no better time nor way to perform a southern rendition of Pink Floyd,” he stated with a smile.

“Yes, there is. How about ‘not at all’?” Ford teased.

Fiddleford shook his head. “No, no. That simply wouldn’t do. How else am I s’posed ta bring a lil’ excitement ta yer life of studyin’?”

_ Do you really want me to answer that? _ Ford thought. “By playing  _ literally _ anything else,” he countered.

Fiddleford shrugged dismissively. “Fine, then,” he said, “If that’s what ya really think.” He began strumming out a low, dull funeral dirge. “Is this what ya prefer? Ain’t exactly fun, but maybe this is just what yer into.”

Ford grinned devilishly. “Still better than Pink Floyd.”

Stalling his depressing chords, Fidds stared Ford down with an inquisitive look. “Yer testin’ me, Stanford Pines.” And with that, he plucked out just the first couple of notes to the chorus of The Wall, just to prove his point.

Very calmly, not taking his eyes off of the road, Ford commented, “Fiddleford Hadron McGucket, I will throw your banjo out the window.”

Fiddleford quickly clutched the instrument to his chest protectively, an exaggerated scowl plastered across his face. “My baby! How dare ya threaten such a thang?”

Grinning evilly, Ford said, “I win.” He looked at Fiddleford for a reaction.

Fiddleford nudged Ford with his elbow. “Yeah, ya think that, huh?” he asked, defensively. “But if this banjo goes, I go with it and there ain’t no replacin’ a McGucket.” He shrugged with a cocky grin. “We’re just too special.”

“Special? But aren’t there about two hundred of you? I think you McGuckets probably take up the entire state of Alabama by now. I could replace a McGucket just by picking up some guy along the side of the road there.”

“Okay, okay,” Fiddleford placated, defeated, “Lemme rephrase that. Ya just can’t replace  _ me _ .”

Ford opened his mouth to disagree, to joke, to tease, to say anything. Nothing came out. He closed it, shook his head, tried again. But Fiddleford was right, nobody could replace him. “Shit,” he finally admitted, “you got me there.” He paused. “But if I have to, I  _ will _ get rid of the banjo and just learn to live without a McGucket by my side.”

“Ha!” Fiddleford laughed tauntingly, “I’d like ta see ya try. Afterall, I do yer engineerin’, check yer equations, and listen ta ya go on and on about anythang and everythang that comes ta mind.” He smiled, realizing that he genuinely enjoyed each and every one of those tasks. “Just admit it. Ya need me.”

“I will never admit defeat!” Ford cried, his memories suddenly rushing back to D, D, and More D games in college. Those were the days. “You can’t make me!” he added, just for good measure.

“Oh, can’t I?” Fiddleford challenged, “Maybe I’ll just stop doin’ all that. Stop bein’ here, as far as it concerns ya.” And with that, he fell silent, not even looking at Ford. Simply pretending that he himself did not exist.

Resolutely, Ford decided to play along. He stared at the road, tapped his fingers on the wheel, listened to the rain and the thunder, hummed, and let his mind drift. This went on for several minutes until he was sweating with the effort of  _ not looking over at Fiddleford. _ Finally, however, he had to give in. “You got me,” he sighed. “You’re right, F. I’d go crazy without you!”

“I win!” Fidds declared, sitting upright and raising his fists as high as they could go in the limited room. “See? It ain’t that hard ta admit how wonderful I am,” he teased with a sly smile.

“Now, I never said  _ that, _ ” Ford stammered.  _ But he’s right. _

Fiddleford pouted, pretending to be hurt. “Are ya sayin’ I’m  _ not _ wonderful?” He opened his eyes wide, staring at Ford over the top of his glasses, trying to draw out some answer.

Ford wanted to say,  _ Yes, you’re wonderful, I like you a lot, why would I ever think you’re  _ not _ wonderful, _ but instead, deciding to keep up an act, he turned to Fiddleford with a wicked smile and said, “Yes.”

Fiddleford’s expression turned sour and he turned around in his seat, staring back out the window at the shadowy storm. “Fine, then. If I’m not the most wonderful person you know, then I guess you won’t mind the rest of the car ride in silence.”

“Aw, come on, F,” Ford sighed. “I was only teasing.”

Fiddleford knew this perfectly well the whole time, but wasn’t quite content just yet. “I don’t believe ya,” he mumbled, “Yer gonna hafta convince me.”

Ford scowled. “You always have to have proof, don’t you, Fiddleford?” He sighed. “But, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.” He paused. “I...said before, I’d go crazy without you, and I wasn’t lying. You keep things stable for me!” Another hesitation. “And, I mean, you’re the only person I know who hasn’t made a complete wreck of my life, so...that’s something, I guess. You’re the only person who...cares about me.” A sigh. “There, good enough?”

Fiddleford looked back at Ford, appearing slightly confused. He wasn’t expecting such an emotional response, but figured he understood it perfectly well. He wrung his hands nervously. “Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “A-and I really do…” He paused. “I do care about you, that is.” He bit his lip and bounced a leg, greatly relieved that Ford’s eyes had to be mostly set on the road.

“Yeah,” Ford said quietly. “Me, too.” He ran a hand through his already messy hair. “Um. Care about you, that is.”

Fiddleford nodded, smiling faintly. “That’s… that’s real good ta know.” He sat for a moment in silence, thinking about whether this meant anything, if it would change anything, if it would make things better or worse… But he eventually had enough thinking, seeing as it only drove his anxiety further. “Ya know,” he began, “By the time we get ta Stull, it’ll be eight er nine,” he explained, “You still so opposed ta the idea of a motel?”

Ford considered the offer. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to get some rest in an actual bed,” he mused. “Alright, sure.” He nodded.

“Alright,” Fidds echoed back with a smile, newly content with their situation.

Ford returned the smile, feeling as if the sun had come out even as the rain splattered harder against the windshield. “Onwards to Stull,” he said, “and to my brother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave us some kindness in the comments if you enjoyed this!


	5. A Motel In Kansas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ford tries to relax for the night, getting out of the car and taking a short break from the chase with his partner, but that too because difficult.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welllllllll, just as a general rule, it would appear that the longer a chapter for this story, the gayer it is. This one is very long and very gay, buddies.  
> Nevertheless, it is not all perfect, so some warnings are still in place. We got a panic-inclined, transgender Fidds and a demisexual autistic Ford, so the following should be acknowledged.  
> Warnings: mild sexual themes, slight gender dysphoria, panic episodes, sensory overloads, and a whole lot of self deprecation.

Ford was quiet for a long time, listening to the rain as he navigated the darkening, rain-soaked highway in Kansas. His emotions turned over and over in his head, fighting for dominance. He wasn’t sure which one to listen to, so he eventually detached himself from them and instead let his mind wander. There wasn’t really much he could do as the minutes, then hours ticked by and they passed through small towns, endless fields, and large cities. They were about an hour from Stull when he finally spoke. “F, do you think he’s okay?”

Fiddleford sighed. It was a loaded question and he wasn’t quite sure how to answer. “I’m guessin’ yer gonna want me ta be honest,” he clarified, “So, I gotta say things can’t be great fer ‘im. He’s on the run from someone, can’t do more than leave notes… fer God’s sake, Stanford, he had ta sell himself!” He took a deep breath, hoping that last fact didn’t do too much damage.

Stanford cringed. “Of course,” he said flatly. “What was I thinking.”

Fidds shook his head. “It ain’t wrong ta hope, but we gotta stay practical ‘bout these sorta things.”

Ford hesitated. “Why’d you come with me, F? You could’ve taken a nice vacation somewhere, a few weeks off, gotten a bit of rest. You didn’t have to do this. This has to...to be a lot for you, too.”

“Well, of course it is,” Fiddleford said with a light chuckle, “But, it’s like I said… I care about ya.” He shrugged, always a bit nervous when opening up emotionally. “And I knew it would be real rough on ya. Especially if ya did it alone.”

Nodding, Ford couldn’t help but agree with his friend. “You’re not wrong,” he said with a wry smile. “I’m not sure how to deal with all this...information, that’s suddenly been thrust upon me about my brother’s situation. It’s nice, I suppose, to have somebody I trust to help me understand.”

“Yeah,” Fiddleford said, smiling faintly, “And if ya wanna talk at all…” He cleared his throat. “If ya think it might help… I’m always here.”

“Well, yeah,” Ford joked, “it’s not like you can really go anywhere right now.” He offered an awkward, crooked grin. “Like I said earlier, you’re stuck here with me now.”

With a loud laugh, as was typical of him, Fiddleford leaned just a bit closer to Ford and smiled. “Well, it’s a rather nice place ta be stuck. The company’s real nice.”

Ford hoped he didn’t seem too awkward when he said, “Um, thanks. I could say the same about you,” and gave another lopsided smile.

Fiddleford grew nervous at Ford’s hesitant nature.  _ Am I doing something wrong? _ He wondered.  _ Maybe he’s just not interested or, God forbid, straight and just being friendly.  _ He settled for a smile and leaned back toward the window.

Ford wished Fiddleford hadn’t leaned away. Things seemed a little lonelier all of a sudden. “Uh,” he said cautiously. “I mean. I’m really enjoying the time we get to spend together. Despite the situation, it’s been rather fun going on a sort of road trip with you.” He cleared his throat.  _ Now’s your chance, Stanford. Just talk to him. _ “I...I really...uh,” he stammered, “I mean, you’re...Jesus Christ, I can’t even speak right now.” He laughed to try to clear some of the tight nervousness lodged in his chest. Then, it just came tumbling out. “IlikeyouFiddleford.”

Fiddleford looked cautiously back toward Ford, lips slightly parted, almost afraid he’d fallen back asleep. He opened his mouth, but decided against speaking, and bit his lip. Finally, he earned back some semblance of courage and spoke. “I-I like you too,” he admitted. He lightly placed a hand between the two of them. “An awful lot. Have fer awhile, I s’pose.”

Stanford Pines nearly crashed the car into a guardrail. When he regained control of his suddenly exploding mind, he said, “I...w-well. Good. Things would be a whole lot more uncomfortable for me if you didn’t.”

“Ha, I guess so,” Fiddleford agreed, finding himself staring at Ford, taking in every feature of his face: his pronounced nose, his strong jaw, his deep eyes, a painfully beautiful shade of brown, intensely focused on the road. He flicked his gaze back out to the storm, which was beginning to pass, if only briefly, letting a few beams of sunlight through as the sky masked behind the grey began to turn orange. “That’s the same reason I didn’t tell ya before. I was always real scared of rejection from ya.”

There was a long pause, where Ford collected some more of his senses from the wreckage of his mind. “I guess what the rumors say are true,” he finally commented. “Road trips really  _ can _ do things to people and their relationships.” He took a deep breath. “I mean. I’m not sure if a relationship would be the wisest thing under the current circumstances, but...I think I’m willing to try.” He glanced at Fiddleford. “What do you say, F? Want to...do this together? With me?”

Fiddleford felt himself blushing all over again with a familiar sense of anxiety tying his stomach into knots. “I would… I mean I… Only if you’re certain, but… I-I would love to!” he eventually stammered out much louder than what was required in the small space.

Uncertain of what to say, Ford instead just gently placed one six-fingered hand over the other’s, which had lingered between them throughout the conversation. He didn’t take his eyes away from the road, afraid to meet Fiddleford’s eyes.  _ There’s so much he doesn’t know about you. You can’t keep these things from him forever. You’ll have to tell him about Bill eventually...but not now. Not just yet. _ So he kept his eyes on the road and his hand on Fiddleford’s and remained silent.

Fiddleford’s heart basically stopped at the feeling of six fingers over his own hand. He tensed up slightly, but tried to appear cool and relaxed. Then again, when was he ever without some degree of anxiety? “So…” he began, “do we get like a title then? Like people do boyfriends, girlfriends, or whatever. See, I suggest we go with somethin’ more unique. Like,  _ affiliated science and otherwise partners, _ ” he joked.

Ford laughed, hearty and genuine. “‘Affiliated science and otherwise partners’?” he chortled. He finally looked over at his...his…. His laughter tapered off until he was just gazing at Fidds. “Boyfriend,” he said softly. “Just...boyfriend.”

“Alright, then, well, if ya wanna be borin’...” Fiddleford let his fingers interlock with Ford’s and smiled. “Boyfriends it is.”

Ford jerked his eyes back to the road, not wanting to wreck the car and ruin the moment. “It’s funny,” he said after a beat, “how your fingers fit like that.” He let his own digits curl over Fiddleford’s smaller hand. “Perfectly.”

“I like it,” Fiddleford commented, squeezing his hand lightly, “The way yer hand completely encompasses mine… feels kinda… safe?” he said, questioning his own choice of words, “S’pose it sounds stupid, though. Just a thought.”

“It’s not stupid,” Ford protested. “Nothing you say is stupid.” He considered that. “Unless you’re high,” he amended. “Or when you say Pink Floyd has good music.”

“Oh you’ve done it now!” Fiddleford declared, “Soon as we find yer brother, I’m makin’ brownies and listenin’ ta The Dark Side of The Moon while watchin’ The Wizard of Oz again. And you better join me!” He tightened his grip slightly. “Isn’t that what boyfriends do?”

“You can’t force me to do anything just because we’re boyfriends,” Ford argued with a grin. “You’ll never get me listening to that hellish music as long as I’m alive!”

“Well then maybe I oughta distract ya from the road long enough that ya can hear it in heaven, ‘cause that’s exactly what that experience is.” He laughed, wishing that one, he had brought some weed with him, and two, that they could be at the motel already, where Ford could focus on things other than driving.

_ You’re already distracting me enough. That’s not a bad thing.  _ “I’d say that’s a very poorly thought-through idea,” Ford said. “Considering that I, one, don’t believe in a ‘heaven’, and two, don’t think I’d be going there anyway.” He shot a smirk at Fidds before glancing at a passing road sign. “Hey, we’re only about twenty-five minutes from Stull! The next exit I take, we’ll be nearly there.”

_ Twenty-five minutes? _ Fidds thought, _ That’s still far too long. _ Nevertheless, the hand-holding and talking was nice for the time being and would have to do. “Oh, that’s nice,” he commented, managing to hide his disappointment, “It’ll be nice ta stretch my legs a bit.”

“Indeed,” Stanford agreed, steering the car into the far right lane. “Alright, don’t let me miss this exit,” he said. “It’s exit 6.”

“Got it,” Fidds affirmed, watching along the road signs for the exit for awhile before spotting it up ahead. “There!” he said, pointing to be sure Ford saw. He wanted nothing more than to get there as fast as he could.

“I see,” Ford confirmed, turning onto the exit. “From here, it’ll be probably about twenty minutes,” he clarified. He paused. “Hey, I can feel your hand shaking. You’re as jittery as I am, aren’t you?”

Fiddleford bit his lip. He hadn’t noticed his hand and tightened the muscles in his arm in an attempt to still it. “Yeah,” he said, “I s’pose so.”

Ford laughed. “Nothing to be ashamed of, Fidds,” he assured, not even noticing the barely-used nickname that slipped out. “I’m just as tired of being stuck in this stuffy car as you are.”  _ I just want to get to that damn motel already. _ He rubbed his thumb against Fiddleford’s hand unconsciously.

At this, Fiddleford’s hand did stop its tremors for the time being. It was just so comforting, yet it still led him to internally freak the fuck out.  _ Oh my lord, I am in a car with Stanford Pines and we are dating now and he’s holding my hand, _ he thought over and over again, still unable to fully wrap his mind around it. Afterall, he’d wanted it for so long. “Yeah,” he said, “It’d be nice ta get out and… relax a bit.”

Ford navigated around a corner a little too tightly. “Whoops!” he exclaimed, slipping his fingers from between Fidds’s and gripping the steering wheel with both hands. And there went the moment.  _ Shit, _ he thought sourly. 

“Yeah,” he continued once he’d regained control of the vehicle. “My legs are so stiff from driving without a break. I always knew my brother was going to be the death of me. Who knew it would come in the form of a road trip?” He uttered a small laugh. “Here Lies Stanford Pines, Scientist and Boyfriend of Fiddleford McGucket. Died from Stiff Legs After Driving for Eight Hours.”

Fiddleford laughed heartily at the joke. “At least then I’d get ya ta listen ta Pink Floyd!” he teased, “Although ya can’t die just yet. I haven’t even gotten ta kiss ya,” he said with a shrug and an awkward laugh to prevent any silence that would only make his fear of rejection resurface once more.

Ford tensed visibly. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. Fidds wanted to...to kiss him? He could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks and ears once more at the thought. He tried once again to laugh with Fidds, to say something, anything, but his voice had stopped working. His heart pounded so hard against his ribs he was sure it would either explode or break free from its cage.

Fiddleford cleared his throat. Ford’s silence was killing him. Maybe then he’d at least get his own lengthy gravestone. “Um, that is, if ya want ta,” he clarified nervously.

“I…” Ford croaked. He cleared his throat, trying desperately to get some noise through. “That is, you…” Shit, it just wasn’t going to happen. He stared rigidly, painfully at the road, unable to do anything else. His main goal at the moment was to not wreck their vehicle.

Fiddleford shook his head. “I-it’s fine,” he said quietly, “If yer not comfortable… It was stupid of me anyhow.” Somehow putting himself down like that made him feel slightly better; getting to insult himself before anybody else could.

This snapped Ford back to the present. “No!” he cried. “No, no, Fidds, it’s not stupid. I...God, I’m the stupid one here. Can’t even talk to my own boyfriend.” He took a breath, collected himself. “Jesus, Fidds, of course I want you to...to kiss me. Of course I do.” He reached down, gripped Fidds’s hand again. “Who wouldn’t?” he added in a whisper, not trusting himself to look at Fidds.

Fiddleford held Ford’s hand loosely, greatly relieved that he hadn’t already scared him away. “You’d be surprised,” he explained with a bit of a laugh, “A few in college and plenty more back in Alabama.” In his home state, back in high school, in the sixties, most guys weren’t particularly open to putting their lips on the lips of another boy. And a transgender one at that. Not that anybody in his school even very well knew the meaning of the word.

“Well, they’re all brainless,” Ford declared boldly. “Anybody who doesn’t want the love of Fiddleford McGucket might as well be an idiot.” He squeezed Fidds’s hand gently. “But anybody who does had better watch out,” he added, his voice lowering a little. “Cause I’m not letting anyone take it from me.”

_ Dear Lord, give me strength, _ Fiddleford prayed internally, counting down the minutes until the motel. It wasn’t the holiest of efforts, but he figured God would understand he couldn’t just pass up an opportunity like this. He blushed across his ears and nose, which he covered slightly with his free hand. He cleared his throat. “Y-yeah. W-well, ya probably won’t have m-much of a problem there.”

“I should hope not,” Ford muttered. “I don’t think things would end well.” His eyes, while still fixed on the road, narrowed slightly. Then, after a moment, his expression relaxed into a gentle smile once more. “I’m sorry,” he said, “it’s probably unhealthy to think of you as a thing that could be given and taken away.”  _ But damn it, you’re mine. _

“Oh, well, ya know,” Fidds stammered out awkwardly, “I mean, technically, yes, but I don’t much mind ya just talkin’ like that much and it’s perfectly fine ta just…” He had to clear his throat, entirely unsure of where he was going.  _ It’s just incredibly sexy, _ he wanted to say, but obviously couldn’t. He knew he couldn’t. He didn’t want to scare his boyfriend off just an hour or so in. “I-it’s fine,” he finally said.

Ford wasn’t quite sure where to go from there in the conversation, so instead he just picked up Fidds’s hand and brought it closer to him.  _ Should I…? _ He went for it, and brought the hand up to his lips for a chaste kiss. “Okay,” he murmured.

“Okay,” Fiddleford echoed back, completely enamored. He used his free hand to pretend to fix his shirt collar, instead pressing two fingers to his neck. He still had a pulse. Good. He wanted to be entirely sure this was real and thank God it was.

Ford turned through a traffic circle before saying, “But please let me know if I do or say anything that you don’t like, and I’ll put in every effort to fix it. You don’t have to put up with my incompetence just because you’re my boyfriend.” He offered a smile.

_ My boyfriend. _ Fiddleford loved the sound of it. He smiled back, squeezing Ford’s hand a bit. “Of course, darlin’,” he assured, freezing up as soon as he realized the term of endearment he’d used.

For the second time that day, Ford nearly slammed down the gas pedal.  _ Darlin’. _ Each syllable of that accented word rang endlessly through his head. His body was so tense he was certain his muscles had turned to stone. “D...darling?” he finally managed to stutter.  _ One hour in and he’s already calling me “darling”. Am I finally doing something right, or is this just some cosmic joke?  _ He didn’t really want to find out.

When he regained some semblance of sanity, he said in a voice that was much smoother than his inner composure--or lack thereof--would have suggested, “Thanks, love.”

Fiddleford desperately tried to suppress a coughing fit as he just about choked on the very air. His heart beat as fast as it did in his panic attacks. He feared that Ford would be able to feel his pulse in his hand, which only quickened it further. “N-no problem,” he mumbled quietly.

Quickly recognizing the signs of Fidds’s anxiety, Ford backpedaled. “I’m sorry,” he said hastily, “was that--did I--too soon?”

“No! No!” Fiddleford protested, “Not at all! I just-” He took a deep breath to calm himself, allowing him to speak more clearly. “I rather liked that is all.”

“Oh,” Ford murmured. “Okay.” He smiled once more, then paused, his hand tightening around Fiddleford’s in excitement as he saw a sign along the road. “We’re here,” he said joyfully, his happy words tumbling out in a waterfall. “We’re in Stull, Kansas. We’ll go looking for the gateway to Hell tomorrow--what do you think?--because right now I think we should find a motel and stretch our legs before getting some rest.”

_ Yes, please, thank God, _ is what Fiddleford thought. “Well, I’d sure like to stop for a bit. Only if yer sure, of course,” is what Fiddleford said.

“Of course I’m sure,” Ford cried, before remembering the small space they were in and lowering his voice. “Alright. Motel, motel, motel…aha!” He pointed ahead to a sign poking above a gas station a few streets down. “There! ‘Gates Motel’, I think it says.”  _ Finally. _

Fiddleford looked at the sign suspiciously. “Seems… questionable. But, I’m sure it’s fine!” he explained, just wanting to get out of the car.

“I don’t even care how questionable it is,” Ford remarked dryly. “I just want to get the hell out of this hunk of metal and get some sleep.” He tried to stifle a yawn. He failed.

Fiddleford nodded, pinching through his shirt to the tight fabric of his binder, now pressing painful red lines into his flesh. “Yeah,” he agreed, “Maybe get a shower finally.”

Ford nodded. “That would be incredible.” He drove to the motel and parked in a rather dingy parking lot. “Come on, let’s get the hell out of here.” He opened his door and staggered out into the damp drizzle of the receding rainstorm.

Fiddleford practically kicked the door open, sighing as he put weight back on his sore, thin legs. “Finally!” he announced before running quickly through the rain, into the motel reception area, where a middle-aged woman leaned over the counter, nearly asleep. Her hair was done up nicely, makeup plastered on heavily, and obvious signs of other augmentation. She stood up perfectly straight, snapping back to life as Fiddleford burst into the room.

“Welcome!” she greeted the pair in a rough, yet pleasing voice with a host’s smile.

“Hi,” Ford said energetically, approaching her counter in a few quick strides. “My friend and I need a room, please.” He smiled rather charmingly at her, although it was unintentional.

Fiddleford glared at the woman. She seemed perfectly nice, but he didn’t like the use of the word  _ friend _ all that well after the past hour, although he understood its need.

The woman giggled. “Alright, then. Well, we only have single bed rooms left. Will that be a problem?”

“No,” Ford said, shaking his head. “Honestly, we’ve been pretty much driving for about three or four days straight, we’ll take anything we can get.” He grinned tiredly. “Thanks.”

“Of course, sugar!” The woman said, retrieving a key from behind her desk and handing it to Ford.

Fiddleford practically scowled at this point and stepped closer to Ford instinctively.

Ford grabbed the key enthusiastically. “Thank you so much,” he said, a grateful smile playing across his face, not noticing Fidds’s dark expression.

“Yeah,” Fiddleford said harshly, “Let’s go, then.” He reached towards Ford, fully ready to grab his hand, but ultimately deciding against it. Instead, he just nudged his arm before heading back out into the rain.

Ford followed Fiddleford outside, not without another incredibly thankful nod and smile at the woman, and headed for their room. “Thank  _ God, _ ” he said as he found their door. He glanced at Fidds and noticed his frown. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Fiddleford took off his glasses to clean off the raindrops with his shirt. “Oh, it’s nothing,” he muttered, “Just… well, didn’t like seein’ her flirt with you like that’s all.” He laughed a bit to himself. “It’s nothin’ really.”

“Oh, Fidds,” Ford laughed. “I’m sorry, I guess  _ nobody _ can resist my charm. Either that, or she didn’t notice my hands.” He looked down with a grin at his hands, an expression that was tinged with sadness. “Oh, well,” he said. “At least we’re finally here.” He inserted the key in the lock and entered the room. It was small and beige, and smelled faintly of cigarette smoke and beer. “Home sweet home,” he commented dryly.

Fiddleford followed Ford into the room and looked around. He gently grabbed one of Ford’s hands. “Wherever we’re together,” he stated with a comforting smile.

Ford stopped gazing at the bland room and instead fixed his eyes on Fidds. “Yeah. That sounds about right,” he said. “Together.” He felt something akin to a magnetic pull bringing him closer to his boyfriend; he couldn’t stop staring at him. “You know,” he said very quietly, “I think I could learn to like this room, as long as you’re here.”

Fiddleford wrapped his long arms around Ford’s shoulders with a smile. “I think I like it a little more already.” He stared down at Ford’s face, wet with rain, hair clinging to his forehead, glasses beginning to fog just slightly, and decided he still looked more beautiful than anything else Fidds had ever seen.

Ford decided it was now or never; he went for it. Moving up and forward slightly, he pressed his lips to Fidds’s and hoped to whatever god was watching that he was doing this right.

Fiddleford tensed up at first, a bit surprised that Ford had made the first move, but quickly eased into the kiss, pressing back lightly and wrapping his arms tighter. Everything just felt  _ right _ this way. Like it was meant to happen for years and at last it did.

Ford felt like he had galaxies in his heart and universes in his soul. Everything was big and endless and beautiful and eternal and  _ perfect. _ Each point of contact between them burned like a star, and the feel of their rain-damp faces so close together was overwhelming. Ford held onto Fidds’s shoulders like he would never let go, and pressed him closer like he was trying to fuse their bodies into one. Time froze. The world stopped turning. Nothing mattered anymore except the two of them, so close, closer than they’d ever been before.

Fiddleford moved a hand to the back of Ford’s head, holding him there like he needed him to live. Unfortunately, he also needed air. Fidds pulled back to breathe, keeping their foreheads pressed together. He smiled devilishly. “Have I ever told ya just how gorgeous ya are?”

“Oh, my God,” Ford mumbled, and buried his face in the crook of Fidds’s neck to try and hide his blush. “‘M not gorgeous,” he added in a muffled and very quiet voice.

Taking Ford’s face in his hands, Fidds pulled Ford back to look at his face clearly. “Don’t lie ta me like that, darlin’. Just look at yerself!” He kissed Ford’s cheek softly. “Nice hair, masculine jawline, and your eyes-  _ oh my lord those eyes _ .”

“I’d never lie to you,” Ford protested. “Perhaps...create some fabricated truths, but never  _ lie _ to you. Never that.” He pressed his lips softly to Fidds’s again before continuing. “So know I’m not lying when I tell you I…” He swallowed, then drew closer to Fidds. “I love you.”

Fiddleford gasped slightly in surprise. It was certainly faster than he was anticipating, but he was not about to complain. He quickly moved to close the small distance between them, leaving open-mouthed kisses along Ford’s jaw and onto his neck as his hands clutched at his shoulders. “I… love you… too,” he admitted between kisses, “so… so much.”

“I…” Ford squirmed as Fidds pressed his mouth against his sensitive throat. “Fidds...Jesus, I….” His hands flailed uselessly, stupidly as Fidds set his nerve endings on fire.

“What is it?” Fiddleford asked, pausing for a moment, “Is this okay?”

Ford was gasping for breath. “I don’t know,” he breathed. “I don’t know, Fidds, but it felt okay. Could you just...keep doing that?” He flushed, a little embarrassed.

Fidds smirked seductively, happy to continue. “As you wish,” he whispered softly, close to Ford’s ear, before turning his attention again to his neck, kissing lightly in some places and significantly harder and much longer, sucking like a fucking Hoover, in others, wondering if there would be any marks left by morning. Ford certainly packed a turtleneck or two anyways, so nobody would see, but he would know and he loved the thought.

Ford realized distantly that he was trembling. He wasn’t sure if this was a good or bad thing. He said something, but he didn’t know what he said because all the information being sent to his brain was so overwhelming he couldn’t think. He just  _ felt. _

Fiddleford brought up a hand to Ford’s cheek, caressing it carefully while the other worked to undo the top buttons of Ford’s shirt and drifting down across his chest. He pulled back for a moment. “Just tell me if you’re uncomfortable,” he said calmly before returning to the task at hand.

This time Ford distinctly heard himself say  _ “Oh, God.” _ Everything felt like it was on fire, like everywhere Fiddleford touched he set Ford’s body aflame. He make some sort of noise and, embarrassed, promptly apologized.

“Shh, no, no,” Fidds spoke softly.  _ Jesus Christ, that sound. _ He was fairly convinced that that noise was the single sexiest thing to exist ever. Scientifically. “Don’t apologize, just… God…” He repeated exactly what he did before, hoping to induce a similar effect.

Ford, not one to disappoint, let another sound escape his throat as his eyes closed, struggling to close off one of his senses and decrease the amount of information flooding his brain. Everything was so  _ much. _ He quietly spoke Fidds’s name before realizing that it had come out as an entirely unintentional moan.

“Mmm, ya still okay?” Fidds asked, nervous to do anything wrong as he continued unbuttoning Ford’s shirt until it was completely open, revealing a soft, yet strong frame; the stance of a boxer.

“Y...yeah,” Ford mumbled. “Just...so much. It feels... _ God. _ Everything feels like fire.” He struggled to voice what it felt like. “It burns.” He let his hands drop and clutch Fidds’s, his fingers running over and over the smaller hands. “It’s too much, Fidds, too much….” He shook his head. “But don’t you dare stop.”

Fidds hummed contentedly. “Well, I’d hate to disappoint ya,” he said before kissing Ford deeply on the mouth for a long moment and beginning to remove his own shirt, fumbling with the buttons, using only one hand.

Ford opened his eyes to look at Fidds, then stared in horror at the angry red all around Fidds’s binder. “Oh, my God, Fidds, take that damn thing off,” he said a lot more sharply than he intended.

“Alright, alright,” Fiddleford agreed, pulling back to quickly take off his shirt, followed by the binder, with a hiss of pain as the marks left stung with the return of blood and sensation to the area. “I’m fine,” he insisted.

Ford’s fingers traced gently over the irritated skin. “You really can’t wear this all the time, love,” he said quietly. “I don’t want you to get hurt. No wearing it tomorrow, promise me.”

Fidds rolled his eyes, carefully moving an arm over his small, but still very much present, breasts. “Okay. Fine. I promise. It’s just…” He bit his lip, a bit reddened from kissing. “I don’t anyone thinkin’ I’m a girl. Not again.”

Ford’s face softened. “Don’t worry. I have a jacket you can borrow. It’ll be nice and loose on you.” He smiled gently. “But it’ll be better for you if you don’t wear that tomorrow. Okay?”

Fiddleford nodded with a slight smile. “Okay, darlin’.” He kissed Ford on the cheek softly, pulling on his shirt so that they could at least be on equal stages of undress.

Ford helped shrug his shirt off, unsure what Fidds wanted to do next. He wanted to explore his boyfriend, too, but Fiddleford had taken charge of the situation. “Um…” he said quietly, unsure of what he actually wanted to say.

“What is it?” Fidds asked, again pausing his advances so as not to push Ford too far too fast.

“I don’t know,” Ford said. “I want to...do what you were doing to me, but I don’t know if you’re comfortable with that.”  _ How can I make you feel good? _

Fiddleford smiled, absolutely charmed by the offer and just how considerate and sensitive Ford seemed in that moment. “Oh, darlin’,” he began, “Absolutely. Ya do just whatever ya’d like.” He leaned in close, towards Ford’s ear, and whispered, “I'm yers.”

Ford shuddered happily. “Mmm,” he hummed, “mine.” Yes, that sounded about right to him. He leaned forward, mouthing cautiously at Fidds’s jaw and throat. He wanted to touch and kiss every inch of him, to make Fidds make the same noises as Ford had made before, to make him feel beautiful in his body.

Fiddleford let his head fall back, moaning softly and encouragingly just to keep Ford going, to keep him from stopping or losing confidence. He lifted a hand to run through Ford’s damp hair and held it against the back of his head, carefully, sure not to press very hard, but secure. He needed to feel him there and know that this was really happening.

Ford heard Fiddleford moan above him and considered it a victory before trailing kisses down Fidds’s throat and along his collarbone, then straight down his sternum before he reached the beginning of his cleavage. Then he paused, hesitant, wanting to kiss and caress him but not wanting to hurt him--especially not emotionally.

“I-it’s fine,” Fidds insisted, looking down at Ford, “D-don’t stop. Please.”

Stanford Filbrick Pines melted, right then and there. Without any further hesitation, he resumed his worship, a silent prayer of thanks escaping him as his hands traced ever so gently and reverently over Fidds’s chest and his mouth pressed small “o”s of love all over.

Fiddleford let his hands fall to the small of Ford’s back. He hummed pleasantly and began gently moving toward the cheap bed, careful not to break contact in the process.

Ford, sensing Fiddleford’s intentions, got a brilliant idea. He stopped his ministrations and instead scooped Fidds into his arms, bridal style, and carried him over to the bed. There he expected to be able to continue what he was doing, just in a more comfortable way.

“Ah!” Fiddleford exclaimed in surprise as he was, quite literally, swept off his feet. He chuckled, absolutely adoring being held in Ford’s strong arms as he was carried to the creaky spring-mattress. It wasn’t ideal, but it was a bed, and he barely noticed as he gestured for Ford to join him atop the cheap furniture.

Ford sat on the edge of the mattress and smiled as he leaned over to press another kiss to Fidds’s chin. “Hi, beautiful,” he murmured.

Fiddleford smiled and wrapped his arms around Ford’s shoulders. “Lovely ta see ya, my gorgeous boyfriend,” he decided to one-up Ford’s compliment as he drew him close, kissing lightly below his ear.

Ford hummed and put a hand to Fidds’s waist, letting his six fingers gently caress the smooth skin. “Am I doing alright?” he smiled.

“Mmm, more than alright,” Fiddleford encouraged, “Just keep goin’.” He slid a hand down to Ford’s hip, curiously poking just his thumb past the hem, gently rubbing against the side of his pelvis.

And that was where Ford froze up. His mental processes ground to a halt and suddenly, this wasn’t fun anymore. It wasn’t fun, just weird and awkward and incredibly, terribly uncomfortable. “Fidds, Fiddleford,” he managed to say, “stop. Stop stop stop.”

Fiddleford quickly stopped, retracting his hand and scrambling back across the bed, away from Ford. “What is it? Are ya okay? Did I-?” He set into a bit of panic, worried that he’d done something wrong and ruined everything before it ever really began. 

“No, nonono, it wasn’t you,” Ford mumbled. “Sorry. I don’t...I didn’t like that. Somehow. I’m...I don’t want to do  _ that. _ Not right now.” He clasped his hands tight, too tight, staring down at them with a horrible pit in his stomach. He was  _ broken. _ He was supposed to  _ like  _ that. It was supposed to feel  _ good. _

“Okay, okay,” Fiddleford assured, breathing still a bit quickened, still horrified at the thought of hurting Ford in any way. “I-I’m sorry. We don’t hafta…” He cleared his throat. “We won’t. Not ‘till yer ready.”

Ford concentrated on slowing his own breathing and heart rate, not on that horrible feeling that he was taking something good away from Fiddleford.  _ Maybe you’re just nervous. Maybe it’ll feel good if he tries again. _ “I  _ want _ to be ready,” he said quietly. “Maybe if you try again…?” He glanced hopefully up at Fiddleford.

Fiddleford sat up straight and took a deep breath. “Ya can’t force yerself ta be ready fer somethin’ like this. Now, look,” He looked Ford in the eyes, those damn eyes could melt him right then and there. “I can try again, but only if yer completely certain ya want me to. One-hundred percent.”

Ford wanted to cry. He wanted this to be nice for Fiddleford. He just wanted to make his boyfriend happy. But would trying again and failing make him happy, or just even more sad? It was impossible to know, but if there was a chance that he could make Fidds feel good he would take it. So he nodded. “Y-Yeah. One hundred percent certain, love.”

“Okay.” Fiddleford nodded, moving closer cautiously. “Just tell me right away if ya wanna stop, okay? Don’t hesitate. I’ll understand.”

“Alright, love. I will.”  _ I won’t. _

Fiddleford carefully placed a hand on Ford’s shoulder, bringing him in for a slow, gentle kiss. He gradually worked to return to where they had left off, slowly increasing the intimacy, leaving wet kisses along his neck and collarbone, then letting his hand fall once again to Ford’s hip and just leaving it there for a moment, a bit nervous to go any further.

Alarm bells went off inside Ford’s mind, and one by one, he shut them off. Everything about this screamed “WRONG” but Ford told it, “right”. He willed his body not to shy away from Fidds’s touch. He  _ wanted _ to want this. So he made himself want it. He looked at Fidds and gave a small nod and a smile.

“Darlin’, ya seem kinda nervous,” he said, picking up on Ford’s reluctance and signs of panic, “It don’t seem like yer too sure ‘bout this.” He looked at Ford with wide, gentle eyes, trying to appear as understanding and approachable as possible.

“I’m  _ fine, _ ” Ford said, perhaps a little too forcefully. “I  _ want _ this, I  _ do. _ ” He avoided Fiddleford’s eyes, terrified and ashamed.

Fiddleford furrowed his brow. “Look me in the eye and promise me this is what ya want,” he instructed, “That’s the only way I’m gonna know fer certain.”

Ford let his gaze meet his boyfriend’s, and he knew immediately that he couldn’t do it. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and slid off the bed and onto the floor, hugging his knees loosely. He was very still and quiet.

“No, nonono,” Fiddleford repeated, moving off of the bed as well and sitting next to Stanford on the floor, careful not to touch him. “Don’t be sorry. Please don’t feel badly. I’m sorry I nearly put ya inta this situation before you were ready. Just, please, don’t feel bad.”

“I feel like I’m broken,” Ford muttered. “I feel like...I’m supposed to do this. I want to do this for you but...I can’t make it feel good.” He paused. “Scientifically, a relationship is closer and more special if the couple is intimate. I...I want that.” A sigh escaped him. “So why can’t I do it?”

Fiddleford bit his lip. It was killing him to see Ford so pained. “Darlin’...” he began softly, “Yer not  _ broken.  _ And ya can’t do this sorta thang just fer me. It hasta be fer yerself too. And sure, sex increases yer serotonin levels, which  _ can _ increase bondin’ and bring couples closer, but it sure ain’t the only way of doin’ it. We can take our time.” He shrugged. “Maybe you’ll never wanna do it and that’s fine. Because I’ll still love you.”

Ford turned and pulled Fidds to him in a hug. “Thanks,” he said very quietly.

And that’s when he saw the small, folded-up paper lying on the floor beside the bed.


	6. The Possession of Stanford Pines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill does not take kindly to Ford's strengthening relationship with Fiddleford, so he does everything in his power to ruin it....  
> He has a lot of power.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, here we go: Warnings for blood, demonic possession, a little bit of minor violence, and a whole lot of crying. Guess you could kiiiiinda say abuse, too? We'll put that on there to make sure.
> 
> Anyway sorry about any weird plot holes or if things move too fast we don't proofread any of this.

Ford slid out of the hug and reached for the paper beside the bed, pinching it between trembling fingers. “What the hell,” he muttered. “Stan found us again.”

“Wow,” Fiddleford spoke quietly, “Either he’s some kinda psychic, real lucky, er just smarter than ya led on.”

Ford kept his eyes averted from Fiddleford, focusing only on the paper in his hands as he unfolded it, fumbling with the corners. “Another code,” he said. “But this isn’t the gateway. Why would he give us a message here?”

“Somethin’ musta happened,” Fiddleford speculated, “Not sure what, but it musta happened here.”

“You have a pen?” Ford asked. “I need to decode this.”

“Um, yeah, lemme just-” He scooted across the floor to where his shirt laid near the door to retrieve an old pen. “Here,” he said, passing it to Ford.

“Thanks.” Ford didn’t look at his boyfriend, instead staring fixedly at the pen that he grabbed hastily before using it to scribble the decoded message onto the bottom of the paper.  _ “Had to run, here’s the clue, come deck me in Baton Rouge,” _ Ford read. “He even rhymed this time,” he said with a small grin before his face fell again. “But all the way to Louisiana? What does he think, that we have unlimited gas money?”

Fiddleford nodded with a sigh. “That is an awful long way.” He bit his lip in thought. “And there ain’t too much we can do ta make money along the way.”

“I say,” Ford began, “we leave the car somewhere and hitchhike. That’s our best bet right now.” He shrugged. “It’ll be easier than driving, anyway.”

“Well, it is a good option. It’s just…” He fidgeted nervously with the buttons of the shirt next to him. “Well, bein’ in a car with strangers like that fer so long… I dunno.”

“Hey,” Ford said quietly, finally looking up at Fidds. “You’ll be fine.” He offered a small smile. “I won’t let anything happen to you, okay?”

Fiddleford closed his eyes and nodded reluctantly. “Okay. Thank ya. A-and I’ll be lookin’ out fer ya too,” he promised with a weak smile.

Ford nodded. “Yeah. That’s...that’s good.” He fidgeted with his extra fingers, tugging on them and twisting them. “We should...probably get some sleep.”

Fiddleford nodded and stood up slowly. “Yeah. I’ll just go and clean up a bit first.” He walked into the motel bathroom, the exact disappointing quality one would expect, shutting the door behind him and turning on the shower before stepping in.

Ford sat on the worn carpet of the motel room for another few minutes, still playing restlessly with his hands, before finally kicking off his shoes, standing up, and heading over to the squeaky bed. It shrieked with protest when he flopped down heavily on it, but that didn’t stop him from closing his eyes and drifting into a shallow sleep.

A few minutes later, Fiddleford came back out in an oversized shirt he’d bought at a Grateful Dead concert and some sleep pants. Ford was already well asleep by then, but still seemed bothered by something. Approaching closer, Fidds heard him muttering to himself as he slept. Not any full thoughts, just short words spoken to something unknown. “No… try… but… can’t… love…” he said. Fiddleford was concerned, but didn’t dare wake him. He was too afraid even to touch him and comfort him. Instead, he just settled into the other side of the bed, facing away from Ford, and gradually fell asleep as well.

Until, that is, Ford started laughing. It started low, quiet, almost like a chuckle. Then he opened his eyes and started to giggle madly, squinting the yellow eyes with slit pupils as his face stretched impossibly with a manic grin and he sat up.

The real Ford, the actual Ford, was deep in his mind, asleep to the world, but still conscious of the words Bill was saying to him in his mindscape. “You thought you could run away, Six-Fingers?” he shrieked to the dark room. “You thought you could forget about your  _ life goals _ so fast? You thought you  _ mattered to them? _ They’re using you!” In the material world, Ford’s body sat up. “I’ve gotta go talk to Fiddlesticks. You stay here and be good. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.” He winked his eye and vanished.

Fiddleford sat up to face Ford, retrieving his glasses from the bedside table. “What the- Stanford why’re ya laughin’? Is everythin’-” And that’s when he saw his eyes, sickly yellow and catlike. “Oh my lord, Stanford, what in the world is wrong with yer eyes?” he asked, panicked and nearly falling out of the bed. This was clearly wrong. Nothing about this was like the man he knew. Something wasn’t just different; everything was.

The eyes blinked--no, they winked, one after the other. Bill was forever getting used to human forms. “Oh, hey, Fiddlesticks,” he said. “Something wrong?”

Fiddleford looked at Ford suspiciously, never having heard him use that name for him before and not exactly a fan of it. “Yes, very much so,” he said, concerned, “Yer eyes are… different and ya don’t seem quite yerself.” He gradually backed off of the bed and onto his feet, moving slowly toward his bag.

Bill’s right eye felt damp. He opened and closed it a couple of times--great, it hurt. That was always so much fun. Something trickled down his cheek. It tickled. “Of course I’m myself, Fiddlenerd,” he grinned. “Why wouldn’t I be? I wouldn’t hide anything from  _ you. _ Not  _ ever. _ ”

Fiddleford nearly fell over when he saw it:  _ blood. _ A thin red stream of blood ran from Ford’s eye down to his chin. “ _ Jesus,” _ he whispered to himself both in surprise and nearly a prayer of sorts. He cleared his throat, trying to remain as calm as possible, recognizing that this was dangerous. “So ya’ve said,” he spoke a bit louder. Reaching his bag, he bent his knees to unzip it carefully, not looking away from those damned eyes. “Along with plenty else.”

“Of course,” Bill mused--haha, that was a good one, ‘cause remember, Sixer, I’m your  _ muse _ \-- “I did  _ conveniently forget _ to mention a couple of things.”

“Hmm?” Fiddleford hummed inquisitively as he searched through his bag.  _ This isn’t right… It’s in here somewhere… I know I grabbed it…  _ “Like… what?” And then he found it. Standing up straight, he held out a small, shining cross on a golden chain defensively toward Ford, like it was weapon of sorts.

Bill held out his clumsy six-fingered hands. “Hey, woah there,” he said with another off-sounding laugh. “What are you trying to do, exorcise me?” He frowned.  _ Would that even work? Probably not. _ He shrugged. “Wouldn’t do anything. Anyway, guess I just kinda  _ forgot _ to mention that I only called you over to help me with my equations. And honestly, when have you ever checked my math and found me wrong? I just give you that to give you something to do.” He grinned. “And I guess I forgot to mention that once that portal’s done I’m not gonna need you anymore. Human lives and interests are so fleeting, I don’t see why I’d ever need a ‘boyfriend’ after this whole thing’s over.” Another trickle from his eye distracted him and he wiped half-heartedly at it, smudging the liquid across his face. “So yeah, that’s it.”

“Oh yeah?” Fiddleford asked, stepping forward, still holding out the crucifix. The words stung terribly, especially to hear them in Ford’s voice, but he convinced himself that wasn’t Ford and just tried to focus. “If that’s the case, then how come ya haven’t sent me back yet? Sounds like I ain’t doin’ ya any good.”

“Well, you see,” Bill explained boredly, “it feels great to have someone on nearly the same intelligence level as me. Still makes me feel superior, but it also gives me an excuse to throw my ideas at something other than a wall.” He smirked. “Honestly, though, I won’t need any of that once I make millions on this interdimensional travel thing. I’ll be up with the big-shots and poor little Fiddlehick will be back in Palo Alto, making thingamajigs in his garage.” He leaned in closer. “And you know what? I’ll probably forget you anyway.”

“Hope ya do,” Fiddleford said angrily, holding back tears, not daring to show any weaknesses to Stanford-- or whoever the hell this was. “I’d like ta ferget all this, myself.” He held the chain tight enough to leave red marks across his knuckles before throwing it furiously towards Ford and storming back to his bag. “Might as well leave ya here, then.”

Bill laughed, long and shrill and wrong. “Oh no, I’m waking up,” he giggled, and then collapsed.

Ford groaned and blinked. “Huh…? Fidds?”

Fiddleford rummaged through his bag for some new clothes without looking up, knowing it would only hurt more to see his face again. “Oh, don’t play dumb. Clearly, yer so much better and smarter. Don’t even need me.”

Ford brought a hand up to his sticky face. “Oh, Jesus,” he mumbled, “Fidds, why am I bleeding…and why am I on the floor?” He scrubbed at his eye. “What happened?”

“I dunno!” Fiddleford shouted, frustrated, before somewhat regaining his composure. “Yer the one who put yerself there and then yer eyes… damn yellow things started bleedin’ on their own.” He took out a pair of jeans and a new t-shirt from his bag before grabbing his binder and beginning to walk back to the bathroom.

“Fidds, wait,” Ford said, reaching for his boyfriend. “I don’t know what you’re…” And then it hit him. _Oh, shit. Bill._ “Fiddleford, please, I’ve been hiding something from you and I _have_ _to_ explain.”

With a sigh, Fiddleford turned back to face Ford at last. He finally seemed himself, but Fidds wasn’t ready to trust him just yet. “What the hell could you hafta say now?”

Ford sighed and ran a hand through his messy hair. “I don’t know what I did just know, I don’t know what I said, but that...that  _ wasn’t me. _ It was my...well, my muse.” He looked up pleadingly at Fiddleford.  _ Please don’t think I’m insane. _

“ _ Muse? _ ” Fiddleford asked skeptically, “Like the Greek storytellers er… What do ya mean?”

“He’s a sort of spirit from another dimension. We made a deal….He comes to me in my mind and tells me things.  _ So many things. _ ” Ford’s mind still rang with the secrets of the cosmos. “He gave me the idea for the portal, and has been assisting me with its construction.” He swallowed. “I don’t think he likes very much that I called you for help, as well. He can get a little testy when I spend too much time without talking to him. But...he’s wonderful. A good friend and a sound conscience.”

Fiddleford shook his head solemnly. “Fer as genius as ya are, Stanford Filbrick Pines, ya sure are an idiot. Sounds ta me more like ya got yerself a demon from Hell helpin’ ya do all this…” He took a few more steps toward the bathroom before turning back again. “And seein’ as ya trust his judgement so much, I s’pose you’d like ta know what he thinks of me. Well, he and I agree on one thing: that I’d best be leavin’.”

Ford’s eyes widened. “What--no! Don’t go, Fidds, please.” He lowered his eyes. “I can’t do this without you.”

Fiddleford’s head fell with a pained laugh. “What was that ya said in the car? Anyone who doesn’t like me might as well be brainless? Well, nice ta know that’s the conscience ya keep.” With that, he walked back into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him and sliding back down it, burying his face into the pile of clothes in his arms.

“Wait--Fidds--” Ford’s words fell on deaf ears as he ran after Fiddleford only to have the door slammed in his face. Biting his lip, he slid down the door and tucked his knees up to his chin, sighing and closing his eyes.

And falling asleep.

“Hey, Six-Fingers,” Bill sneered in his mind. “Guess I’ve gotta teach you a little something. Get ready to  _ learn. _ ” He opened his eyes and smiled.

“Fidds,” he said in a perfect replication of Ford’s tone. “Fidds, I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah?” Fidds asked through the door with a sniffle, “Well, somehow I'm findin’ it hard ta believe ya.”

Bill decided to play it up a bit and let tears creep into his voice--even though they were horribly messy and damp. “I can...I can talk to Bill. I can try to make him see...what I see.” He grinned.  _ That should do it. _

Fiddleford hesitated. He really wanted Stanford back, but not with Bill. He didn't want this  _ muse _ to see; he wanted him  _ gone _ . “What do ya see?” Fiddleford asked, “Huh? What would ya ever get him ta understand?”

Bill racked Ford’s mind for an answer. “I see that energetic young man who kept me up until two in the morning playing his banjo. I see the man with whom I spent whole days playing D, D, and More D. I see someone who loves me, someone so...beautiful--” Bill nearly vomited, ugh, human emotions were so  _ weird, _ “someone so vibrant and fun and smart and kind...please, I can’t lose you like I lost everyone else.”  _ Playing the pity card--something Ford would definitely do. _ Bill nodded confidently to himself.

Fiddleford sighed, stood up, and opened the door, allowing Ford to fall backwards onto the cold tile of the floor. Fidds rolled his eyes. “Ya can talk to ‘im, right? Do that. Convince him of whatever ya gotta say or I'm goin’ back to the shack then, once I have my stuff, back to Palo Alto.”

Bill slowly climbed to his feet, grinning and blinking his eyes left-right, left-right at Fiddleford. “There will be no convincing. I’m gonna make sure he can’t have you, ever. I’m gonna teach him  _ such _ a lesson.” He began to advance upon the southerner, flexing his six fingers threateningly, backing him towards the wall.

“ _ You…” _ Fiddleford muttered as he anxiously stepped away until he felt his back hit the wall. There was no where left to go. “W-what’re ya gonna do?”

“I’m gonna make you  _ hurt, _ ” Bill screeched, and lunged at Fidds. A six-fingered hand clenched around Fidds’s throat and forcibly smacked his head back against the wall. “He will  _ never _ be able to have you!” Bill shrieked, landing a sharp blow right below Fidds’s rib cage before letting go and stepping back, smiling wickedly. “Sorry, Fiddlesticks,” he sneered. “It’s not me. It’s  _ you. _ ”

Fiddleford fell to knees, finding himself gasping for breath. He rubbed a hand across his neck, where he could feel fingerprints forming into bruises. Slowly, he rose back to his feet. There was no way out unless he did something. He bit his lip and cringed, gathering all the strength in his being. “Get  _ out _ of my boyfriend’s head!” he shouted and quickly slapped Ford dead across the face with all the muscles he’d earned from years on the farm. While the demon was distracted, he quickly left the room, grabbed his bag, and ran out the door into the rain in his barefeet.

Bill staggered. “Yikes,” he muttered thickly as blood trickled from a split lip. “Little hillbilly bitch.”

_ Don’t you DARE talk about Fiddleford like that! _ Ford was waking up. And he was  _ very very unhappy _ .

“Sorry, Six-Fingers,” Bill laughed as he began to sever ties with Ford’s mind, “he’s already long gone, I think.” Then he left, and Ford once again fell to the floor.

Fiddleford climbed hastily into the car, locking it behind him. He began digging threw his bag for- “Shit,” he cursed aloud as he realized Ford still had the keys in his pocket. He fell forward, his forehead hitting the wheel and began to sob. He was cold and wet and hurt and completely alone. Nothing had ever felt this terrible in his entire life. Not the bullying, not the social nor romantic rejection, not even the blow to his ribs could compare to the way his heart ached relentlessly.

Ford staggered to his feet, his head spinning, his eye stinging, and his hands aching. His knuckles seemed to be bruised, Fidds was nowhere to be found, his lip was bleeding, and there was a small reddish smudge on the wall of the bathroom. “Oh, my god,” Ford whispered as he realized what had happened. “Oh, my God, oh my God, Fidds, Fiddleford, what did I do?” He stumbled quickly to the door and stared out into the cool rainy night. The car was still there and Fiddleford was inside. He was crying, Ford noticed.  _ I have to do something, _ he thought, and, making up his mind, cautiously approached the car.

Fiddleford looked up as he heard the vague sound of footsteps to see Ford’s face, still slightly stained with blood. He jumped and scrambled over to the passenger seat, holding his arms over his chest and neck defensively, fear in his eyes.

Ford stopped upon seeing Fidds’s panic and pointed to his eyes. “It’s me,” he said. “I won’t hurt you.” He didn’t move any closer. His face was sad. “I knew he was jealous,” he continued. “I didn’t think he’d take it this far. Did he hurt you?”

Cautiously, Fiddleford moved closer to the window, rolling it down just a few inches. He moved his arm down and tilted his head back, revealing his neck. “If he wants me gone, I'm goin’,” Fiddleford explained, his voice still weak from having all the air knocked out of him, “I need the keys.”

“I….” Ford wanted to protest, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from the six-fingered bruises on Fiddleford’s neck. “I’m sorry,” he simply said, before handing the keys to Fiddleford. “I don’t want to hurt you anymore. Just go.” He turned away.

Fiddleford took the keys and held them to the ignition. They jingled with his shaking hands, but he found himself unable to actually put them in and start the car. He wanted to stay. He wanted  _ Ford _ . But at what cost? He looked back at his boyfriend, or partner, or whatever he could call it at this point. “Why didn't ya tell me?” he called out, tears once more beginning to run down his face.

Ford shrugged, not turning around. “Because I was afraid. I didn’t want people to think I was crazy. I mean, ‘I have a triangle-shaped muse that visits me in my head and tells me the secrets of the Universe’ doesn’t exactly make me sound healthy, does it?” He laughed bitterly. “But I know better now. I should have told you right away. I should have told you on the way here. I should have told you so many times. But if you knew, then you could get hurt, too. And...I didn’t tell you. And you got hurt anyway.” He was trembling, shirtless in the chilly rain. He felt empty. “You need to get away from me,” he said. “I’ll deal with Bill.”

Fiddleford sighed. He tried once again to force himself to start the car, but his hand just shook more and more until the keys fell to the floor. Hesitantly, he rolled down the window all the way. “Is there any way ta get rid of him?”

Surprised, Ford turned to face Fiddleford. “Huh?” His jaw worked soundlessly for a moment. “I mean...there are potentially a number of ways to destroy him. Kill the vessel he’s possessing, wipe the mind of the vessel, destabilize his theoretical molecules….” He thought. “Or, to keep him just out of  _ my _ mind, install a metal plate right about...here.” He gestured to the back of his head. “I have to say, killing me is the best potential option we have at our disposal, so--”

“ _ No, _ ” Fiddleford asserted willfully. The thought of murdering his best friend only made more tears well in his eyes. He thought to himself for a moment. “I'm no surgeon, but… I mean I'm real good with metal and if it could stop this…”

“No offense, Fidds, but I’m not sure I can trust you with a scalpel and my skull in the same situation.” Ford offered a hesitant smile. “We’ll figure something out.”

Fiddleford nodded. “O-okay, but… what about next time ya try ta sleep?”

Ford shrugged. “Guess I’m not sleeping until we figure something out.”

Fiddleford’s eyes opened wide and he stepped out of the car. “Darlin’, who knows how long that could take?”

“I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure I could last about a week with enough caffeine.” He tried another smile, but it was tinged with fear as he stepped away from Fiddleford.

Fiddleford took another step closer, more confidently than he felt. “I still dunno. It doesn't sound safe.”

“F-Fidds,  _ nothing about this is safe, _ ” Ford said, trying to keep himself away from Fiddleford, his eyes fixated on the bruises  _ his hands made. _ “ _ You’re _ not safe as long as you’re around me.” His gaze dropped to the glistening pavement. “You shouldn’t be staying.”  _ But I’m glad you are. _

“I  _ want _ to!” Fidds explained loudly. He took in a deep breath and looked around. The lot was empty. “I meant everthin’ I said. I still  _ love _ you.”

Ford took a step towards Fidds. “You...you do?” He stretched out a hand, faltering before he could touch Fidds’s rain-splattered face.

Fiddleford gently placed his hand on the back of Ford’s pressing it to his cheek with a weak smile. “Always,” he affirmed.

A choked noise, halfway between a sob and a laugh, tore from Ford’s throat as he swept Fidds to him in a hug. “I love you,” he whispered over and over, wishing he could say it for eternity. He pressed the gentlest of kisses to the bruise on Fidds’s neck in a silent apology.

Fiddleford let a few tears slip past as he wrapped an arm around Ford and used his other hand to lift up his chin and kiss him properly on the lips, wet from rain.

Ford wanted to stay there forever with Fidds in his arms, but the rain was very cold. “We should get inside,” he said quietly. “It’s pretty cold out here.”

Fiddleford laughed lightly, pressing their foreheads together. “I guess so.” He took one of Ford’s hands in his own. “Let's head in. We can stay up tagether. Make a plan.”

Nodding, Ford clasped Fidds’s hand. “Yeah. A plan.” The plan didn’t matter to him. Fidds was smiling again. It might have been late at night and raining, but Fidds’s smile made it feel like the sun had come out. “Come on, beautiful. We have much to discuss.” With that he led his boyfriend inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE THICK PLOTTENS  
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> Also, check out our tumblrs! boat-nectar1 and themindofcc, respectively. Promise we're cool people.


	7. Leaving Kansas, Getting High

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ford and Fidds have to get out of Kansas. Luckily, the right kind of people come along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We made 3 new original characters for you guys. Hope you like them. Lil bitty warning for weed, but otherwise, enjoy!

“We’re going to need a lot of coffee,” Ford said, perching himself on the edge of the bed. “And a plan.”

Fidds sat next to him, anxiously bouncing his leg and still a bit shaky. “Yeah,” he agreed with a rapid nod. “I mean, ya can't go forever without sleep, so maybe… if we tied ya down? I dunno.”

Ford shrugged. “It’s worth a shot. But I’d like to...try not to sleep too much. I don’t want to hurt you.” His eyes flicked from Fidds’s bruised neck to his own hands. “Or worse.”

Fiddleford noticed Ford’s gaze and raised a hand to cover his neck. “I'll be fine,” he lied.

“Are you...are you sure?” Ford tugged restlessly at his extra pinky. “It’s a pretty nasty bruise.”

“It's fine!” Fiddleford insisted, a bit too loud to be convincing. His head fell with a sigh, nervously fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “I-I'm sure.”

Instead of responding, Ford slid an arm around Fidds’s waist and drew him a little closer. He didn’t know what he was  _ supposed  _ to say. All he knew was that one of them needed comfort, and it was going to be Fiddleford. Sighing, he continued to keep his gaze fixed on  _ anything but Fiddleford, _ unable to look at what he’d done to him.

Fidds became still and tense at the touch, but gradually leaned into Ford, resting his head on his shoulder. “So,” he began quietly, “maybe we could find some surgeon or somethin’.”

Ford chuckled mirthlessly. “What surgeon in his right mind would put a metal plate in the head of a man who says he has a demon trapped inside it? Besides, surgery costs money. We can barely afford gas money and cheap fast food, let alone thousands of dollars worth of surgery. No; we’re going to need something different. I just...don’t know what.” He sighed. “I don’t know what to do, Fiddleford.” Unable to fidget with his extra fingers, he settled for tapping the fingers of his free hand against his leg in an anxious drumming rhythm. “I’m scared.”

Drawing in a shaky breath, Fidds had to force himself to hold back the tears welling in his eyes. “Me too,” he said in a whisper, “I just want…” He actually wasn't exactly sure what he wanted. There were so many things.  _ I want us to be safe. I want to turn back the clock and stop this from happening. I want you _ . “I want things ta go back ta how they were earlier,” he admitted with an unamused laugh at his own confession, thinking that things could never truly be the same.

Ford’s arm tightened around Fiddleford for a fraction of a second.  _ Things can never be the same again. I did this. _ “Everything is different now,” he whispered. Then, louder, “I’m going to fix this. I promise.” How, he didn’t know. But he was going to make things right again.

Fidds nodded as a few tears finally broke through, streaking down his cheeks. “Okay,” he whispered. He began shaking again even with the security of Ford’s arm around him. “Okay.”

Carefully, Ford turned and put his other arm around Fidds, pulling him into a gentle hug. He rocked him back and forth, shushing and comforting him, trying desperately to get him to stop shaking in his arms. He hated making him cry. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m going to fix this. We’ll fix this, you’ll see.” He placed another feather-light kiss on Fiddleford’s bruised neck, attempting a physical apology where words wouldn’t come.

Fiddleford became still as tears continued pouring from his eyes. “B-but how?” he asked, knowing there was no known answer. “I dunno how ta… I don't wanna…” He thought back to what Ford had said; that death would be the ideal option. He  _ couldn't  _ let that happen. “A-and then what? H-how can things go back ta normal after all this?”

Ford laughed, although it wasn’t exactly happy. “When have things  _ ever _ been normal?” A pause as he considered Fiddleford’s anxious trembling. “Things...might not end up  _ normal. _ Hell, I don’t  _ want _ things to be normal. But at least...you’ll be  _ safe. _ ” He kissed Fidds’s tear-damp cheek. “And that’s all I want.”

Fidds wrapped his arms around Ford’s shoulders with a bit of a forced smile. “Right,” he assured, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “A-and I'll be here with ya. I ain't gonna leave. No matter what,” he insisted, tightening his hold around Ford and kissing him on the cheek, trying to be somewhat reassuring in his anxious state.

In response, Ford just pressed his face against Fidds’s shoulder and mumbled “I love you” into it until it became an incoherent jumble of words. He didn’t want to ever let go, to face reality and the danger Fiddleford was willingly, needlessly placing himself in. He didn’t want to wake up. Finally, however, he loosened his hold and sat back. “Okay?” he asked, able now to look Fiddleford in the eye.

Fidds nodded wordlessly as he dried his face, looking into Ford’s deep brown eyes, calmed by the lack of yellow. “Since neither of us is gonna sleep, we might as well head out, then.”

Ford nodded. “Yeah...that sounds like a good idea. We were going to hitchhike to Louisiana, right?” That conversation seemed ages ago. Before everything crumbled.

Fiddleford sat back, pulling back his arms, and straightened his shirt anxiously. “I guess so. Course we'll hafta act… platonic. ‘Less we get picked up by some free love caravan.”

Ford shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. “I think we can do that. Act platonic, I mean.”  _ It’s not like I didn’t do that for the two years we lived in Gravity Falls together. _ He managed a smile. “We’ll be fine, love. Now come on, let’s get dressed.” He rifled through his small duffel bag until he found a clean shirt.

Fidds stood and retrieved his clothes from the bathroom floor. He saw the red stain on the wall and had to take a moment to compose himself. He was  _ not _ going to start panicking again. He, as calmly as possible, wet a towel and cleaned the spot so as not to arouse suspicion from the cleaning crew of the motel. He mentally debated whether or not to put his binder back on, but ultimately decided to listen to Ford and leave it off for the day. He dressed himself and knocked on the door. “Is it okay if I come out yet?” he called out to Ford.

“Yeah,” Ford replied, doing up the last button on a powder-blue shirt. “Go ahead.” He paused. “You didn’t put your binder on, did you?”

Fidds rolled his eyes as he walked back into the main room. “No,” he said, holding it up as proof before shoving it back into his bag.

“Good.” Ford nodded and shot Fidds a smile. “I hope it’s not too early to hitchhike.” He glanced at the clock--twenty after six. He did a double take. “Since when was it morning?” he exclaimed, before considering this. “Well, I suppose we should count ourselves lucky. At this hour, there’s gotta be someone heading in the general direction of Louisiana.”

Fidds checked the time, genuinely surprised by how quickly the night had passed. “Wow. Well, plenty of truckers an’ people travelin’ cross-country oughta be goin’ round now.” He looked down at his clothes, always displeased by the way he looked without a binder. “Ya said ya had a jacket?”

“Oh! Yes!” Ford exclaimed, diving for his duffel and pulling out a large, beige jacket covered with pockets and zippers. “Here, this should work. I hardly ever wear it; you can...you can keep it, if you’d like.”

“Are ya sure?” Fidds asked, hesitantly taking the jacket. It was in good condition, better than most of his clothes anyway. The perfect size for someone of Ford’s stature; it would sit baggy over Fidds’s lithe frame.

“Of course I’m sure.” Ford smiled. “I don’t wear it often enough, and you need it more than I.”

“Oh, thank ya!” Fidds said with a genuine smile as he pulled the jacket over his shoulders. The sleeves hung down to the tips of his fingers. He could've fit another copy of himself inside and still zipped it completely with ease. But, it concealed him well, for which he was greatly relieved. He turned a bit and grinned at Ford. “So? How do I look?”

Ford blushed. He looked  _ adorable. _ “You look perfect,” he said honestly, beaming back at Fiddleford. “I think I like it better on you.”

Fiddleford laughed and waved dismissively. “Oh, yer sweet.” He planted a kiss on Ford’s cheek and walked toward the door with a yawn. “So, how’re we gonna do this?”

Ford shrugged. “I don’t know, I’ve never hitchhiked before. I think, in books, people hold up a sign and stick out their thumb?”

“S’pose that'll hafta work.” Fidds swung open the door and walked back to the lobby to return the key and pay for the room. The same woman was at the desk, obviously exhausted from working the night shift, as was evident from the heavy bags hanging under her eyes.

She stood up painfully straight as they entered. “Leaving already?” she asked with a forced smile.

Ford entered after a moment and, hearing the woman’s question, nodded. “We just needed a place to spend the night,” he explained.

The woman nodded. She rubbed below her eyes, only worsening the smeared condition of her makeup. “Of course. Well, that'll just be seven dollars.” She reached out a hand.

Fidds set the key on the counter and dug through his bag to retrieve the money.

The woman took the bills with a nod and waved to the duo as they headed out. “You two stay safe now!”

Ford smiled and nodded. “Thank you,” he said, exiting and shutting the door before turning to Fidds. “You have everything you need?”

Fidds nodded and briefly moved to hold Ford’s hand, but decided against it as another car pulled in. “Yeah.” He began walking up to the edge of the road. “Might as well git started.”

Agreeing, Ford joined Fidds at the curb. “Let’s hope somebody friendly passes by,” he sighed, resisting the urge to hold onto Fiddleford’s hand, to feel the five fingers comfortingly fitted between his six. It was the hardest thing he’d ever done.

“Can't be that hard,” Fidds said with a shrug. He leaned hesitantly out into the road, holding up a thumb. “Seems simple enough. Besides, most people’re friendly in reality!” Just as he'd said that, a truck swerved dangerously close to the curb with a loud honk. The scent of tobacco wafted from the window as the driver shouted some string of curses at them. Fidds immediately fell back, barely managing to stay on his feet. “Well…” he mused anxiously, “ _ most _ people anyhow.”

Ford couldn’t help the tiny smile that quirked up his lips. “There’s always an exception, love,” he said, hoping nobody was in earshot as he let the nickname slip. He glanced around fervently to be certain and was rewarded with an empty parking lot and a lot of endless, silent road. A breeze ruffled his hair with a wispy hand, and he looked at Fidds as it touched his hair too. He couldn’t hide the smile when he saw the sandy curls waving gently in the breeze. “Let’s hope somebody comes along soon,” he added, going back to watching the road. “Stanley can’t wait forever.”

Twenty or thirty minutes must have passed before Fidds saw it moving towards them from the edge of the horizon: a brightly colored Volkswagen van, running just below the speed limit, with darkened windows. “Ford! Look!” he called out, sticking his arm out further into the road. He whispered to himself, “My people.”

Ford waved an arm, hoping to get the attention of the driver. The van slowed to a stop, its glaringly bright flowers and peace signs nearly blinding Ford as they caught the early morning sunlight. A window was cranked down and a girl with enormous, permed blonde hair and huge red-tinged shades leaned out. “Well? Are you gonna get in?” she called.

Fidds nodded rapidly, a bright smile on his face. “Of course!” He rolled open the heavy metal door to the back, climbing in and looking back at Ford excitedly, before acknowledging their new hosts. “Thank y’all so much!”

“No problem, stranger.” Another girl sat in the back with dark, tanned skin covered by loose fitting cloths wrapped around her thin frame as a skirt and top, one shoulder clearly exposed. Her black hair was long enough to reach the middle of her back and she spoke with an accent similar to Fidds’s own. “So where’re you two goin’?”

“Baton Rouge,” Fiddleford explained. He waved from across the cramped space. “And I’m Fiddleford McGucket.”

“Jenny Rivers.” She waved back before gesturing to Ford. “And yer friend?”

“Um, I’m Stanford,” Ford said. “Stanford Pines. But you can call me Ford.”

“Groovy,” the blonde girl said with a grin. “Come on in, Ford. Mi casa es su casa, or whatever the Spanish people say.”

Ford clambered in after Fidds and shut the door behind him, seating himself on a brightly-colored cushion and setting his small duffel on the shag carpeting--which was its own mystery--before glancing back up at the blonde girl. “I don’t think I caught your name,” he said.

“Oh, I’m Daisy,” the girl giggled. “Daisy Ander. And he’s Fred.” She gestured to the lanky ginger man at the wheel, who waved. “He doesn’t say much.”

“Well thank you for letting us join you,” Ford smiled graciously.

“So,” Fiddleford began, settling into the soft blankets and pillows that lined the entire back into a makeshift bed, “where’re y’all headed?”

“Oh, ya know,” Jenny explained, gesturing calmly with her hands, “just wherever the winds lead.” She giggled. “Which I guess means Louisiana fer us now!”

Fiddleford leaned in towards Ford to whisper. “This is great, darlin’!”

Ford grinned and whispered back, “I know; they’re a lot like you.” He laughed under his breath. “Although, I hope they don’t have the same taste in music.”

“Hey, Fred!” Daisy said, poking the driver in the shoulder. “Put on the radio, wouldja?”

“Sure, man,” he said, and began pressing buttons and twisting dials until a station came into focus. “Learning to Fly, Pink Floyd,” he announced quietly. “Everyone dig this?”

“Yeah,” Daisy said, “Pink Floyd is groovy.”

Fiddleford slowly turned to look Ford in the eye, silently smiling devilishly with a look that said it all.

Jenny cheered as the tune began before turning back to their guests. “Gotta love this stuff!”

“Sure do!” Fiddleford assured smugly. He picked up on the familiar, sickly scent in the air. “Say, y’all got anythin’ fun ta go with this?”

“Oh,” Jenny began, counting out the options on her fingers, “We got water and fruit and Mary Jane-”

“Ooh! That last one!”

“Sure thing! Hey! Daisy!” she called up to the front, “Where’d we put that picture of Mary?”

“Oh, yeah, not that,” Fiddleford explained, a bit confused.

“Oh.” Jenny shrugged. “Well, we always got weed.”

Daisy turned to face the back very quickly. “Did someone say weed?” she said with a grin.

Ford was still grimacing at the music when he heard what they were planning to break out. He looked at Fidds. “Should I?”

Fidds shrugged. “Yer choice, darlin’. I ain’t gonna force ya either way.”

“Daisy, you know we got it! Yer the one that bought it!” Jenny explained as she began digging under blankets to find a sandwich bag, half full of crumbly green leaves. “Found ‘em!” she declared before searching next for the paper.

Ford shrugged. “I think I’ll pass,” he said, “but if you give me Bambi eyes I’ll take a drag.”

“Could one of you roll the poor driver a joint?” Fred joked. Ford wondered why his voice was so quiet all the time.

“Of course, Freds,” Daisy said, waving a freckled hand coated in brightly-colored bracelets. “Make sure you’ve got one for Freds,” she passed to the back.

“Fine, fine,” Jenny said as she began rolling one joint, “but this shit’s expensive, so don’t everybody be expectin’ their own.”

Fidds crossed his arms and narrowed his gaze at Ford suspiciously. “Is this just an excuse ta see the Bambi eyes?”

Ford didn’t make eye contact, whistling innocently.

Daisy took the roll of paper from Jenny. “It’s okay, you let the boys back there have one and you and Freds and I can share,” she beamed. She lit the end and took a drag before passing it to the driver. “Careful,” she said. “Let’s not have a repeat of Mississippi.”

Fred grinned, and Ford was left to wonder quietly what had happened in Mississippi.

“Seems fair,” Jenny commented as she finished off the second and held it out to the couple with a smile.

“Thanks,” Fidds said graciously, taking the joint, and breathing in a slow puff of smoke. He blew it smoothly back out before cutting off in a coughing fit near the end. He smiled at Ford, pupils already dilating, which only made his eyes look bigger as he stared at him from over his glasses with a pout. “The Bambi eyes, then?”

Stanford Pines, top of his class, a man with twelve PhDs, several thousand dollars of grant money, and a half-finished interdimensional portal in his basement, could not resist the Bambi eyes. Sighing, he said, “Fine. Just one drag, though, okay?”

Daisy laughed again, although it was a lot more gentle than before. “Just one drag, he says. Listen, man, you’re gonna love it.”

“You just do whatever ya wanna do, darlin’,” Fidds explained in a calm voice, which was rare with his anxiety levels. He handed the roll to Ford with a grin and a wink. “But it  _ will _ make ya like Pink Floyd.”

Cautiously, Ford took the roll and put it to his lips. He’d smoked cigarettes once or twice, back at Glass Shard Beach, but that seemed like ages ago. What if he choked on it? What if it killed him? What if he hated it? What if these hippies kicked him off and drove away with Fidds? Then he looked back at Fidds. He hadn’t been this calm since Gravity Falls. It was nice to see him so laid-back. After a moment’s hesitation, he breathed in a puff of smoke, just like Fidds had done, and  **_o h._ **

“I think he likes it,” Daisy commented. “What do you think, man?”

Ford blinked. The world was suddenly a whole lot better. The music was...nice. A good background noise. “Wow,” he said.

Fidds chuckled, lazily wrapping an arm around Ford’s shoulders. “What d’ya think, then?”

Ford touched his forehead to Fidds’s. “I think you have good taste,” he said.

“For the love of God, just kiss already,” Fred commented. Daisy laughed.

“Ya can’t even see ‘em, Fred!” Jenny said, taking a hit of her own, “They’re even cuter from back here!”

Fidds laughed loudly, perhaps too amused by the state they were in. He twisted his fingers delicately through Ford’s hair. It just felt so  _ nice _ against his fingertips. Why didn’t things feel like this sober? “What d’ya say? Give ‘em what they want?”

Ford shrugged. “Why not?” he smiled, and pressed his lips to Fidds’s.  _ Wow _ . It felt  _ even nicer _ when he was high. He hadn’t thought that possible.

“Are they doing it?” Fred’s voice filtered into Ford’s muddled brain. He didn’t care.

“No,” Daisy replied. “But they  _ are _ kissing _. _ ” She shrugged. “We’ll let them get to that later.”

Jenny laughed raucously, even falling onto her back after passing the roll up to the front again.

“Oh my God,” Fidds said, quickly pulling back from Ford, his heart racing almost as quickly as his mind, “Oh my, God, Ford, I just remembered somethin’ important!”

“What?” Ford asked, his mind still foggy. “What is it?”

Fidds looked Ford dead in the eye, completely serious, and said, “Whales have pelvises, Stanford. Like, but no legs. But they used ta have legs. I think.” He put a hand to his head, completely astonished by the thought. “Like, what if they used ta just be walkin’ around on land?” He demonstrated the action of walking with two fingers across Ford’s knee. “Whale-people…”

“Whale-people,” Ford repeated, trying to work his mind around Fidds’s words. He took another hit before passing it back to Fidds. “It sounds…right, I think. Wasn’t the best at bi...bio...biology. That’s the word. I wonder why whales’ legs disappeared?”

“Are our conversations this crazy when we’re high?” Daisy mumbled.

“I think we’ve talked about weirder stuff,” Fred replied.

Jenny snickered. “Don’t ferget that night in San Fran, Flower! Then again… I barely remember it myself…” She laughed some more.

Fidds softly pressed a hand to Ford’s cheek, holding the joint and taking another drag with his free one. “Wow,” he mused in a stream of smoke. “Yer so handsome. Like, fairy-tale-handsome. Like those fellers with the horses and the swords and stuff.”

Ford blushed. “Well, Fidds, I think you’re...really, really beautiful. And I don’t mean...cause I know you’re not a girl. But you just go...right past handsome and straight into...like, I don’t know. Angels. That kind of beautiful. Is it warm in here to you? You should take off your jacket. Don’t want to...to get too warm.”

“No, no, I-I shouldn’t…” Fidds dismissed, “I’ll be fine. Not like them poor baby whale legs.”

“It’s alright!” Jenny said comfortingly, “We won’t judge ya none! It is a bit stuffy in here anyhow.” And with that, she completely removed the thin shirt she wore, having on absolutely nothing underneath. She shrugged. “We’re all just people.”

Fidds nodded, seemingly convinced and unbothered. “Okay, okay,” he agreed, shrugging off the jacket, completely comfortable in this new environment.

“There, isn’t that better?” Ford mumbled close to Fidds’s ear. “I just don’t want anything to happen.” His fingers ghosted lightly over the greenish bruises on his partner’s neck.

“Wow, what happened there?” Daisy asked. “Someone catch you two?”

“Um, yeah,” Fidds lied, as convincingly as he could in his altered state, “Some weird guy didn’t much like us tagether… but Ford took care of ‘im!”

Jenny crawled toward the driver’s seat, leaning over Fred’s shoulder to whisper, “They’re in loooooove,” with a sniffle, obviously very moved by the sentiment.

“Yeah, Jenny,” Fred replied with a slight smile, kissing her cheek. “And so are we. Remember?” He took another hit before handing it to Daisy. “You and me and Daisy. I love you two.”

Daisy poked Fred affectionately. “And we love you too, man.”

In any other circumstances, Ford might have been slightly bothered with this new insight on the lives of the three hippies. But, considering that he was high, kissing Fiddleford, listening to Pink Floyd, and reclining in a van with three hippies, he decided that things were already way different and he shouldn’t really bother being offended.

Fidds smiled happily, kissing Ford a couple more times before commenting, “This is real nice. I like this.”

Ford nodded, stroking Fidds’s hair. “I wish things could always be like this.”

Daisy sighed, propping her feet onto the dashboard. “We all do,” she said. “Why can’t people just love people? Why’s it always gotta be  _ hate, hate, hate?” _

“Yeah,” Fred agreed, “I mean, like, everyone’s different. Nobody should have to pretend to be something they’re not just to be loved, man. Why can’t we just, like, love everyone?”

Jenny patted him on the shoulder supportively. “That is so deep, Fred.”

Fidds held Ford tighter. “Yeah. Why’s there gotta be so much hate? I just love ya and I want ev’rybody ta know it.” He pointed out the window at a man in a too-tight business suit on his way to work. “Like that guy. He deserves ta know how great you are!”

“If I could,” Ford mused, “I’d make a great big sign. And then I’d write all the things I love about you on that sign, and they all wouldn’t fit so I’d have to make another one. And then, I’d hang up all the signs and make sure that everyone reads them.”

“That’s a great idea, man,” Fred said. “I think we should all make signs about each other.”

“Yes!” Fiddleford agreed strongly, “We should do that! Fer all of us! Fer Fred and Daisy and Jenny and Ford and me and Ford again and those whales!” He flopped back into the mess of cushions with a serious, concentrated expression.

Ford unbuttoned his shirt and flung it off, annoyed by how stuffy it had become somehow. “But how are we gonna make signs when we’re stuck in this van?” he sighed.

“I guess we’ll have to wait till we have stuff to make signs,” Daisy commented sadly.

“Oh, well,” Fred said quietly, before he noticed the sign along the side of the road. “Oh, hey,” he said. “Oklahoma, what d’you know?”

“Ooh!” Jenny clapped her hands rapidly with a smile as she began digging through the blankets once again. “I’ve got an idea! We got markers…” She pulled out a black Sharpie and tossed it to Fidds, who completely missed the catch, but picked it up anyway. “And we got our own canvases!” She proudly turned to display the purple dragon tattoo peeking up from the hem of her skirt.

“Good idea!” Fidds encouraged, fumbling with the slick plastic before finally managing to remove the cap of the marker and sitting up next to Ford. Leaning in, he carefully wrote across Ford’s newly exposed chest,  _ “good and hot.” _ He sat back triumphantly. “There! Two things I like about ya!”

Ford took the sharpie from Fidds. “If I’m gonna do this, love, you’ve gotta take off your...thing.” He poked Fidds’s shirt. “Shirt.”

“Gladly.” Fidds began to pull off his t-shirt in what was meant to be a classy, seductive manner, but really was just clumsy as he managed to get stuck a couple of times. Nevertheless, he eventually succeeded and, after having to retrieve his glasses from the floor, smiled comfortably at Ford.

Ford gaped a little bit. “Wow. Um, I mean. Fidds, remember how I said you’re beautiful? Well, I think you’re more than that. But I can’t really...think of the word.” He paused. “Perfect.” He wrote the word in his elegant cursive across Fidds’s collarbone. “Perfect,” he repeated.

Fidds took Ford back in his arms and fell back into the cushions, taking his boyfriend with him this time. “Too good,” he muttered, “too good and nice to me. Dunno why or how.”

Daisy grabbed another marker and set about writing on Jenny’s shoulder blade:  _ “Pretty laugh. _ ”

Jenny took the marker from Daisy and lifted up the bottom of her shirt to write just below her navel: “ _ Soft and nice.” _

Daisy laughed and kissed Jenny’s nose. “You’re pretty soft and nice yourself, Jenny.”

“Am I not allowed to join the party just because I’m driving?” Fred called forlornly.

“Oh, of course, honey,” Jenny said as she moved up next to Fred. “Just try not ta crash.” She lightly drew on the side of his stubbly face the word: “ _ Brave.” _

Fred glanced in the mirror and read the word on his cheek. His lip trembled. “Ah, Jenny,” he mumbled.

“Come on,” Daisy said, “we all know you are, man. The bravest.” She patted his cheek comfortingly.

Fred sniffed. “Did I tell you girls I love you? Cause I love you.”

Watching this tender scene, Ford nuzzled his face against Fiddleford’s. “I love you.”

Fiddleford kissed Ford instinctively, their faces already so close together. “I love ya too. Have fer awhile and will fer as long as I can.”

“Mmm,” Ford hummed. “Good.” He felt his eyelids growing heavy. “Fidds? Do you think that...if I’m high, Bill won’t be able to do anything?”

Fidds bit his lip, struggling to mentally weigh the options before moving just a bit away from Ford for safety. “I think it’s worth a try. Ya deserve some rest.”

“Good. Cause I can’t stay awake anyway….” Ford’s eyes closed and he drifted into a surprisingly restful sleep.

Daisy glanced at the pair. “Aww, Ford’s asleep.” She went back to showering Fred with affection before turning back to look at Fidds again. “Hey, man, you okay?”

Fidds nervously wrung his hands as he watched Ford. “Yeah. Fine. He’s just got… some sleepin’ issues. Just gotta keep an eye on ‘im’s all.” Needless to say, he was exhausted as well, but was not about to risk falling asleep around a demon.

“Just chill, Fiddles,” Daisy said placatingly. “He’ll be fine. We’ll take care of him.”

Fiddleford wanted to stay up longer. He still didn’t feel quite safe. Yet, the haze in his mind and the weight in his eyes disregarded such reason as he lied down close to Ford, still hesitant to touch him at all. “Okay, alright. Just…” He sighed. “Just wake me up if he starts actin’... weird. Okay?”

Daisy didn’t even hesitate. “Of course, man. Get some sleep, you look really bad.”

“Yeah,” Fred added. “I can’t see you, but you sound really tired.”

“Don’t you worry,” Jenny assured him, “We’ll keep an eye on you two.”

Fiddleford nodded and mouthed a silent  _ thank you _ as the world gradually faded to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave us some kindness in the comments, and check out our tumblrs: boat-nectar1 and themindofcc!


	8. Speak of the Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stanford and Fiddleford receive a few unfortunate and terrifying visits from Bill. Fortunately, their newfound friends may have found a temporary solution to their problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, finally another update! Little warnings for PTSD, mild violence, and demon possession, as well as LOTS of drugs and a quick mention of prostitution at the end.

Bill blinked his eyes. Why was it so hard to open them? Everything felt heavy and muddled. “Dammit, Fordsy,” he mumbled, “what’d you do to yourself?” He blinked again and the first thing that came into focus was Fiddlenerd passed out beside him.  _ Ohoho,  _ he thought,  _ what a lucky boy am I! _ Now was his chance. Now he could strangle this pathetic hippie in his sleep and get him out of the way. He sat up groggily, his head spinning with the sudden motion, and made as if to grasp the little pipsqueak by his throat.

But he moved too fast, got dizzy, and fell right off the annoyingly bright pillows and onto the shag carpeting. He swore under his breath, but couldn’t quite manage to pick himself back up, so he just laid there and waited for whatever this strange feeling was to wear off.

“Woah,” Jennie said with concern, looking back at Ford flopping about the back of the van, “You okay there, man?”

“Sure hope I’m gonna be, toots,” Bill groaned. “Feel like I’m stuck in a tar pit. Except without all the tar.”

“So…” She took a moment to think through exactly what that meant. “Like, just a pit?” She laughed to herself. “Yer first time’ll do this to ya, dude. You’ll be fine.”

“I am a being of pure energy with no weaknesses,” Bill tried to shriek, but it came out as this weird croak. “What the fuck,” he added as an afterthought.

Jenny just laughed even harder, not off-put by Ford’s strange behavior. “Haha. Sure thing,  _ Mr. One-Drag. _ ” She layed back down, closing her eyes and taking another puff of her own.

“Ahahaha,” Bill said, faking laughter to try and blend in.  _ All I wanted to do was take care of the hick, _ Bill thought.  _ Why is that suddenly so hard? _ He tried once more to sit up and finally succeeded. “Aha,” he said quietly. “Now for some finer motor skills.” He clambered to his knees and stretched his hands out for Fiddlesticks’s throat. “Once you’re out of the way, there’ll be nothing standing between me and little ol’ Fordsy,” he cackled.

Fiddleford began to slowly awaken, his mind even foggier than before. He wondered why everything felt numb. All except for one disturbingly familiar detail: the heavy pressure on his neck. His eyes flashed open to see Ford staring down at him with a manic smile, only it wasn’t  _ him _ . He gasped for breath, pulling at the six-fingered hands keeping him down. He tried and failed to scream, resulting to silently mouthing the words, “ _ Help… Ford…” _

“Sorry, Fiddlesticks, nobody can hear you,” Bill sneered, and tightened his grip. Oh, boy, this was fun.

Until something clocked him on the back of the head and everything went black.

“Dude, what the  _ hell, _ ” Daisy panted, holding up a small cooler, looking like she was ready to do it again.

Jenny snapped upright to see the scene. She scrambled across the floor, climbing over Ford’s body and raising a fist up above his face. “You crazy son of a-!”

“Wait!” Fiddleford protested, still laying on the floor, gasping for breath, “Don’t! It’s not what you think!”

Jenny shook her head solemnly, looking at Fidds with saddened eyes. “Look, man, I know you love him, but this ain’t right.” She prepared once again to hit him.

“No! I swear! There’s a demon in his head and he does horrible things, but it’s not Stanford! Don’t hurt him! Please!” Fiddleford sat up, still holding a hand over his wounded neck.

Jenny let her arm fall to her side. She looked to Daisy. “You sure they didn’t lace that stuff with anything?”

Daisy shrugged. “I’m doing alright, and Fred’s still upright.” She glanced at Fred to be certain.

“Nah, there wasn’t anything in the weed,” he said. “I could’ve told you right away.”

Daisy stared down at Stanford. “He’s done that to you before,” she said quietly. “There wasn’t anyone trying to keep you two apart. It’s just him. The bruises you came on our van with had six fingers.” She looked at Fred. “Stop the van, Fred, this guy isn’t good news.”

Fiddleford only further covered the marks on his neck. “No! Wait!” He crawled towards Ford, still prevented from getting too close by Jenny. “Just… let him wake up. Please. The… thing- it can only get in his head while he’s sleepin’. I promise. I wouldn’t lie ta y’all. And if I did, why would I choose  _ this _ lie?”

Jenny sat back with a sigh. “I dunno…” She looked back at Daisy. “I know it sounds crazy, but… what if he’s tellin’ the truth?”

Daisy eyed Fiddleford. “He could be. A demon isn’t the weirdest thing we’ve seen. Remember that one time in Oregon?”

“That was crazy, man,” Fred agreed. “Yeah, I think we should believe him.”

Daisy nodded. “Alright. We’ll wait for him to wake up.”

Fiddleford smiled gratefully at Daisy. “Thank you! Thank you! I promise-! Just wait!”

Jenny looked Ford up and down. “What if it happens again? D’ya think we should… bind him or somethin’?”

“I’ve got something that might work,” Daisy said, reaching back and grabbing a tie-dyed bag and digging through it. “Found it,” she beamed, holding up a small crystal on a chain. “It’s a charm. Way cool. It might keep the guy from being able to do anything. That way, we won’t have to tie him up, which could hurt him. Circulation or something.”

Jenny nodded skeptically, taking the charm from Daisy and carefully placing it around Ford’s neck before moving off of him and holding Fidds back to watch and see what would happen.

Bill felt himself slowly waking up--huh, shouldn’t Fordsy have realized something by now?--and blinked once more. Everything felt really weird, and--wait, shit! He couldn’t move his arms, or his legs, or anything! “What in the seven circles of Hell is going on?” he shouted as he came to the realization that he was paralyzed.

“Holy shit,” Jenny muttered, “That crap actually works.”

“What the hell do ya want?!” Fiddleford asked, panicked, gritting his teeth and relying on Jenny’s arms to keep him from punching that demon in his own boyfriend’s face.

Bill clenched his teeth. “ _ I want you gone, _ ” he screeched.  _ “I want you dead.” _

Daisy shook her head. “You’re crazy, man.”

“Completely out of it,” Fred added.

“And just what  _ are _ you? Huh?” Fidds continued his questioning angrily.

“I am a being of pure energy! Immortal, indestructible, incomprehensible! I want out!” Bill yelled, his own voice like a jackhammer to his tender head. “I’m stuck in the second dimension! I just want to be free!” He tried playing the sympathy card. Maybe they’d let him move--then he’d strike.

Daisy blinked, confused. “I don’t know what he’s saying.” She shook her head.

Jenny’s expression softened. “Guys, I think he’s, like, a prisoner or somethin’. Like, he just really wants to-”

“Don’t care!” Fiddleford shouted, breaking free from Jenny’s grasp and quickly moving up to an immobile Bill, slapping him across the face as hard as he could, still a bit weakened from the earlier assault. “I want my darlin’ back!”

Bill yelped, and then Ford made his move. He forced himself out of the inside of his mindscape and took Bill’s distraction to his advantage, waking himself up and forcing Bill out. “Fidds,” he gasped, and, sitting up, scooted right over to Fiddleford and clutched him tight. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry….”

Fiddleford immediately recognized that it was truly him and held Ford has tight as he could, trying to keep him from seeing his neck. He kissed him on the cheek, right where he had hit him, hoping to make up for all that had transpired.

“Ugh, my head hurts,” Ford groaned.

“Yeah, that’d be the combination of the weed and the cooler,” Daisy said, only a little guilty. “You better hold onto him tight, the other guy almost had him this time.”

“Shh, no. It's fine,” Fidds insisted in a whisper, his hands trembling against the bare skin of his boyfriend’s back. The absolute last thing he wanted in that moment was to frighten Ford any more. “I'm alright. It's no big deal, darlin’.”

“I could’ve... _ he  _ could’ve killed you, love,” Ford whispered.

“Nah, I wouldn’t let him,” Daisy said. “I don’t know who ‘he’ is, but nobody hurts our friends.”

“Woah, Daisy, cool down,” Fred said in a soothing tone. “You shouldn’t hit people with coolers.”

“Then what do I hit him with, Fred? He was gonna kill Fiddles!”

Fred was silent.

Jenny walked over to Fred, placing a delicate hand on his shoulder. “I know ya don't like it, honey, but sometimes a bit of force is necessary.”

Fidds bit his lip at the constant reminder of the word “kill,” which he feared would only further worry Ford. He pushed aside his own panic, suppressing it down with all the rest, and kissed Ford again lightly on the cheek. “It's alright. A-and Daisy got this here crystal thingamajig!” He tugged carefully at the bright, almost luminescent, glassy purple point at the end of the thread.

Ford gazed down at the crystal. “Huh,” he said skeptically. “Does it work?”

Daisy nodded enthusiastically, her curls bouncing. “Yep! Now the guy can’t control your body, only your mouth. Which might get interesting, considering the stuff he said before you woke up.”

Fidds shook his head. “But that's not important. You can actually get some rest now!” He pulled back to look Ford in the eye as he smiled painfully, a hand still covering his neck.

Frowning, Ford gently touched Fidds’s hand with his own. “Can I see?” he asked quietly.

“Uh-oh,” Daisy said, and scrambled for the passenger seat again. “Let’s give ‘em some time.”

Jenny and Fred followed suit, leaving the two as alone as they could manage in a van.

Fiddleford frowned, averting his gaze to the floor. “It's not yer fault… It’ll just worry ya ta see.”

The scientist tugged gently at Fiddleford’s hand. “You know I’ll just pester you until you do,” he said with a faint smile. “Besides, I’m already worried. At least let me see how bad the damage is, love.”

“A-alright, but it's really not that… I mean, just don't…” He breathed out a heavy sigh, the scent of intoxicants still clinging to his lungs. He slowly allowed his hand to fall into Ford’s, letting their fingers intertwine as he tilted his head back just enough for a decent view of the fresh marks over the old. “I'm really alright, darlin’.”

Ford sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Mother of…” he muttered. “Fidds, how are you still...speaking? This almost crushed your larynx.” He brushed his fingers over the marks lightly. “Aren’t you in pain, love? Please don’t lie to me.”

Fiddleford tensed up and hissed slightly at the contact. He felt his heart sink at that final request. He chuckled to himself, trying to put some sort of positive overtone to the brutal reality. “Yeah, yeah, of course. But, well, you know me. I'm a stubborn bastard!” He laughed again, only to fall into a coughing fit.

“Oh, Fidds,” Ford sighed, pulling him back into an embrace. “It’s all my fault, love. I’m so sorry.” He stroked his sandy hair. “You must be terrified of him. I’ll do everything I can to stop him from hurting you again.”

“No, no, this ain't yer fault. A-and you must be scared too, darlin’.” Fidds lightly pressed a kiss to Ford’s jaw. “Don't be sorry. He can't hurt me anymore. He can't even move.”

Ford nodded. “Yeah. That’s right. He can’t hurt you anymore.” He beamed at Fidds and kissed his nose. “Bless these hippies for finding a temporary solution!”

“That was me!” Daisy contributed.

“Wonderful idea,” Ford commended her. “Hey, Fred, how long until we’re in Louisiana?”

“We’ve still got a  _ lot  _ of time, man,” Fred said, glancing at a map Daisy held up for him. “A  _ lot _ of time. Like, maybe seven more hours.”

“Well then,” Fidds began, reclining into the mess of blankets and taking Ford with him, “we had oughta rest. Plus, if ya fall asleep, worst case scenario is I shove a pillow in yer mouth.” He shrugged with a lighthearted laugh.

Ford smiled and snuggled closer to Fidds. “That's true. Just try not to suffocate me.” Then he closed his eyes, pulling Fidds to him and slowing his breathing.

Fidds allowed himself to relax in Ford’s warm arms, pressing a kiss to his neck before he began to close his eyes, similarly drifting off.

“Awh, look at them,” Daisy smiled. “So cute.”

“I wish I could see them,” Fred said.

“Ya know, honey,” Jenny began, “You’ve been drivin’ for awhile now. Maybe you should take a break.”

Fred shrugged. “If you say so. Want to take over, or will Daisy?”

Daisy shook her head. “I'm gonna make sure that crazy guy doesn't show up again, man.”

Jenny nodded in agreement. “It’s best to be safe. I’ll take it from here.”

Fred pulled over and slid out of the driver's seat. “She's all yours,” he said to Jenny. “I'm gonna sleep a bit.”

Jenny giggled to herself as she climbed into the driver’s seat, setting a hand on the wheel. “Just past noon and ev’rybody’s sleepin’.”

“I'm tired,” Fred said simply. “Drove most of the night.” He reclined on the shag carpet, resting his head on a cushion, and closed his eyes.

“Guess I have three people to watch over,” Daisy said, leaning back against the wall of the van. “Hit the road, Jenny.”

“Sure thing, sugar!” Jenny announced and continued their drive south.

* * *

“Well, well, well,” Bill muttered as he descended through the dark, bluish void of the mindscape to face Ford, “I gotta say, Sixer, this is certainly clever.  _ Reeeeaaally _ smart letting these drug-addled strangers and ol’ Fiddlesticks try and fix your mind. Only problem is I’m already here!” He laughed condescendingly.

Ford scowled at Bill and clenched his fist. “Cipher! Get out of my mind; you have no more control over me!”

Bill only laughed more, placing a hand with a grip of iron upon Ford’s shoulder. “Oh, you know I'd love to. Maybe move into somebody less  _ restricted _ . But we have a  _ deal _ , Stanford.”

Ford’s eyes widened.  _ “From now until the end of time,” _ a memory murmured. “No,” he whispered. “No, no, no!” The panic hit him like a freight train. He suddenly found his mindscape swirling like a typhoon around him, overwhelming him. 

And then, it stopped. Everything went very still as a wave of acceptance washed over him. “I have one last solution,” Ford said with a rather wild smile. “One that will keep my friends safe. One that will get rid of you for good.”

“Is that so?” Bill asked, growing to encompass Ford with a skeptical gaze, “And how do you think that would go over? Ha! I can see it now. You, all bloodied and lifeless. Your little friend, crying for hours, miles from home. Me, off to find some other sucker.” He laughed hard and long. “Humans are just hilarious!”

“You and I both know that killing the vessel you are in would kill you, too,” Ford said. “Don’t try to play your tricks on me anymore. Fiddleford understands that if I must, then I will.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I will do whatever it takes to protect him.”

Bill sighed and rolled his eye. “Okay, okay.” He returned to normal size, pressing a hand to where a forehead would be. “You're a smart guy, Sixer!” He put out both hands calmly. “So, I got you a revised deal. You go back and finish that portal, and I then leave your mind and promise to keep you and your friend alive. What d’you say?” His eye creased as if smiling.

Ford frowned. “I will have to discuss this with Fiddleford, and I have to find my brother first. But…” He sighed. “I will consider it.”

Bill waved a finger side to side like a metronome. “Tick-tock, Sixer. I don't have forever! Well, I do. But you don't. Point is, this offer isn't forever. You should really think about your priorities.”

Ford glared at Bill. “My priorities are  _ Fiddleford and Stanley first, _ Cipher, got that? I might not consider your offer at all if you think that I will  _ ever _ put you before either of them.”

“No, no, no,” Bill scolded, “Not me. Yourself.” He used his control over the mindscape to create a mirror in front of Ford. “And your dream.” Next to the mirror, he conjured an identical form of his perpetual motion machine: spinning, sparking, and eventually collapsing into dust. “You've had this new  _ boyfriend  _ for one day, buddy. But me?  _ Science?  _ Your love affair with the unknown has been your  _ entire life. _ ”

Ford bit his lip, and his mindscape once more began to tremble at the pressure of his conflicting emotions. “But I…” He ran his hands through his hair, staring at the ground with wide eyes. “I…” His gaze traveled back up to Bill. “What about Stanley?”

Bill’s expression turned slightly bitter, his bricks briefly flashing red. “What about him? He's the one that got you sent to that failure of a college anyways! He's been nothing but jealous of you his whole life. This whole chase is probably just some new scam!”

Ford  _ wanted _ to believe Bill. He  _ wanted _ to think that way about Stan. He  _ wanted _ to believe that his brother had ruined his life. It was how he’d thought for years.

But buried beneath those feelings of anger, hurt, and betrayal, he’d always felt guilty. Because somehow he’d known...Stan would  _ never _ sabotage him willingly. Stan had been by his side his whole life and had supported him. So when his brother called, when he’d thought his brother had  _ died, _ Ford thought his world had ended. He still loved Stan.

“No,” he said quietly. “It’s not a scam, Bill.”

Bill pointed a finger at Ford, staring him down angrily and once again increasing to an intimidating size. Black veins coursed into his eye.  “You have a lot of faith in the guy that ruined your life,  _ pal _ .”

“He didn’t ruin my life,” Ford countered. “My life has been fine. I’ve been happy. Sure, college could have been better, but I made a very good friend, got grants, and started the research I wanted to do. I got a house and a boyfriend and a car and a stable income, and Stanley…” Ford shook his head. “Stanley has a car and a duffel bag and nearly a decade’s worth of enemies and felonies. If anything,  _ I  _ ruined  _ his _ life.” Now that Bill was presenting his own arguments to him, he realized how  _ stupid _ they sounded to his ears. He shot Bill a glare. “I will  _ not _ accept your offer, Cipher.”

Bill’s entire sclera was black by this point, his pupil blood-red. “I'll spell this out for you  _ one last time,  _ wise guy! Either you take my deal and you get to live with your choice between your dumbass brother and that drooling hick at your side, or I  _ will _ find another way out. I  _ will _ win. Either way. It's time for you to pick a side.”

_ What do I choose, what do I choose, what do I choose? _ Ford’s thoughts screamed at him. He sank to his knees, overwhelmed, as his mindscape whirled into a dizzying blur around him. “Bill, I….” He clenched his eyes shut--

\--And woke up with a cry of alarm and total fear.

* * *

Fiddleford awoke to a scream, feeling Ford rolling in his arms. He held him tighter as he slowly came back to consciousness. “Ford…” he mumbled, “Darlin’, are ya okay?”

“Y-yeah,” Ford panted, clutching Fidds to him. “I’ll...I’ll be fine.” He hesitated. “Fidds, if someone gave you two choices and both of them were bad, what would you do?”

“Well,” Fidds began, rubbing Ford’s back soothingly, “I s’pose I'd hafta choose whichever was best morally and fer the people I love.” Reconsidering the question, he became suspicious. “Did that…  _ thing _ offer you somethin’?”

Ford sighed and nodded, pressing his face into Fidds’s shoulder. “Yeah. He did.”

Fidds sighed, running his fingers through Ford’s hair. “Darlin’...” He pressed a kiss to the top of Ford’s head. “He's a demon, darlin’. I just don't know if anythin’ he says can be trusted.”

“I know, I know,” Ford muttered. “But...he told me I had to choose to finish building the portal and get to have you or Stanley...or he’d be in my mind forever. And...Fidds, love, he’s an all-powerful being, this crystal won’t hold him off forever, he’s going to drive me insane, he could do unspeakable things to you…” He tried to hold back his tears. “I’m terrified now. That...something terrible is going to happen no matter what I choose.”

Fidds bit his lip. Him  _ or  _ Stanley. He sighed, his heart beginning to race, but doing everything he could to suppress his panic. “I… I think you should take yer brother and go back and finish the portal.”

“But Fidds,” Ford almost wailed, causing Fred to stir uneasily in his shallow sleep, “he has a  _ time limit. _ ”

“Then go quickly!” Fidds argued, holding back the tears in his eyes and pulling Ford closer with trembling hands, “Just get him and go back! That's what’ll make ya happy!”

Ford suddenly realized that, in both of Fidds’s suggestions, he had never mentioned himself. “What about you, love?” he asked softly, pulling back to look Fidds in the eye.

Fidds looked away, not wanting Ford to see him about to cry. He shook his head. “You…” He took a deep breath, doing little to calm him. “Ya said me  _ or _ Stanley. I'm tellin’ ya ta get him.”

Ford shook his head firmly. “I can’t...I  _ won’t _ just leave you, love. That’s...that’s the worst idea you’ve ever had.” He smiled faintly. “And, if I remember correctly, you’ve had some pretty bad ideas.” He pressed a kiss to Fidds’s head and scrubbed at his eyes with a hand. “I still have some time; maybe I can think of an alternative.”

Fidds laughed halfheartedly at the recollection of his worst ideas, most of which resulted in their dorm room catching fire, causing a stream of tears to break through and roll down his cheeks. “Okay, alright. B-but, if ya can't…” He looked up at Ford. His eyes were painfully red from crying and, more prominently, from his last encounter with the so-called  _ muse _ . “Just promise you'll do what’ll make ya happy. Okay?”

“Okay.” Ford hugged Fidds tight again and closed his eyes, relaxing in the arms of his love.

Then, everyone was disturbed into alertness once more by another, even more anguished cry as Fred sat bolt upright, tears pouring down his face, the name “Vinnie!” spilling from his lips.

Jenny quickly pulled the car over into the nearest parking lot. “Fred! Fred! Honey, wake up! It's okay! It’s just a dream!”

Fred’s shoulders heaved with horrible sobs as he clutched at his face and his shirt and his hair. “I...he...I couldn’t….”

Daisy was beside him in an instant, embracing him tightly and pressing his face to her chest, gradually calming his sobs. “It wasn’t your fault, Freds,” she murmured. “You couldn’t have done anything.”

Ford sat up slightly, watching this scene with confusion.

Jenny climbed into the back and carefully laid a hand on Fred’s shoulder. “Shh, shh. Yer stronger than ya know, honey.”

“You’re so brave, Freds,” Daisy praised, her voice thick with emotion. “You’re so good and kind and brave.” Fred embraced Daisy around the waist and cried like a child into her tie-dyed top. “Shh, that’s right,” she continued, “just let it out. Just like that.” She ran a hand through his shaggy ginger hair.

Just watching this, Fidds found himself sitting up, holding himself even closer to Ford, almost protectively. As if he needed similar consoling.

Jenny smiled encouragingly. “Hey, Fred, d’ya think a bit of a high would help ya?”

Fred looked at her with red eyes, wiped his face with a hand, and sniffed pitifully before nodding.

“Yep,” Daisy muttered to Jenny, “it was a bad one this time. He’s not even talking.”

“I know, I know. Just give him time,” Jenny whispered back before kissing Fred on his forehead and quickly moving back to their stash and rolling him a small joint, holding it out to him along with the lighter and a grin.

Fred lit the joint with shaking hands and stuck it between his lips, closing his eyes as he took a long, deep drag and blew it out again. Slowly, he opened his eyes and gave the girls a faint smile. “Thanks,” he whispered, leaning against Daisy’s chest once more.

Ford rubbed Fidds’s shoulder comfortingly as he watched the scene unfold. “You okay?” he asked softly.

Fidds quickly nodded and placed a hand over Ford’s on his shoulder. “Yeah, yeah. I'm alright. Just…” He turned away from the others to look Ford in the eye. “I really love you.” He offered a small smile with a meaningful gaze.

Ford pressed his lips gently against Fidds’s before returning the smile. “I love you, too,” he replied. “More than Bill, more than the portal, more than science, more than Gravity Falls…more than everything.”

Fidds chuckled. “Well, it's nice ta know I'm a better date than that ol’ town.” He kissed Ford back and then rested his head on Ford’s chest, his ear placed close enough that he could faintly make out a heartbeat.

After a long moment just gazing down at his boyfriend leaning against him, Ford gently began running his six fingers through the engineer’s curls. Everything was so quiet and calm, Ford nearly forgot about Bill for a moment. It was like a freeze frame, a scene from life hanging indefinitely in time. Everything was perfect in its imperfection.

Eventually, Jenny had the van going again. Four hours left to Baton Rouge.

Fidds smirked. “I just realized it's gonna be even hotter in Louisiana. Plus, we’re gonna hafta wear shirts there.”

Ford sighed. “Damn hippies. You’ve made me one of you.”

“I’ll count that a success,” Daisy commented with a grin.

“Oh, I see how it is,” Fidds teased, sitting back and crossing his arms mock-angrily, “I live with ya fer years, move to Oregon fer ya, even save ya from that murder-bot, but you just wouldn't join the high side ‘till now. It's the van. Isn't it?”

Ford smirked. “It might be. Bright colors, shag carpeting, flowers all over the outside--completely won me over.” He shook his head with silent laughter.

“Fred did most of that,” Daisy chimed in. “He painted all the flowers on it, and designed most of the inside himself.” Fred nodded in confirmation.

Ford whistled his appreciation.

“It's beautiful!” Fidds chimed in.

“Yep!” Jenny commented from the front, “That's our Freddie fer ya. Real talented.”

Fred grinned modestly. “Ah, it’s nothing.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s nothing, Fred,” Ford said. “You have quite a talent if I do say so myself.”

The younger man shrugged but couldn’t hide his pleased smile. “I just do what makes me happy, man.”

“And do a darn good job, too,” Daisy interjected.

“Always do!” Jenny affirmed.

“It's really somethin’,” Fidds added, “And it’s real nice that you can just do what makes ya happy with the people ya love. Really sounds perfect.”

Fred nodded modestly. “It really is.” 

Daisy nudged Fred with a grin, then poked Jenny in the shoulder. “Hey, Jenny, how much longer?”

Jenny giggled and thought for a moment. “Oh, about three hours,” she explained with a shrug, “Maybe a bit more.”

Daisy turned to look at Ford and Fidds. “Think you lovebirds’ll be good to go in three hours?” she asked.

“I think so,” Ford replied. “What do you think, Fidds?”

Fidds nodded with a gentle smile, taking Ford’s hand in his own. “Yeah. I think we’ll be just fine by then.”

* * *

 

Meanwhile, in Baton Rouge, Stanley Pines turned up the radio to tune out Rick’s obnoxious snoring.  _ Alright, Stanley, _ he told himself,  _ another city, another clue. Time to get back on the move. _ He checked his rearview mirror. “Shit,” he said intelligently as he spotted a battered black car coming after them. “Shoulda stayed away from the South. Hey,” he nudged Rick, “hey, nerd, get your weird gun thing. They’re hot on our trail. Can’t you hold them off?”

Rick groaned enthusiastically as he begrudgingly rose back awake. “Ugh. I’m tired,  _ cariño, _ ” he complained as he searched, seemingly aimlessly, along the car floor before sitting back up with a complex gun of pulsing energy, rolling down the window, and shooting quickly at the car behind them, bursting a tire and causing it to swerve haphazardly toward the edge of the road. Rick merely yawned and relaxed back into his seat.

“Nice shot,” Stan commented, allowing his tense shoulders to relax slightly. After a pause, he added, “Sorry. For waking you up.” He rolled his eyes a little. “I’ll let you get back to your beauty rest.”

“Don’t n-need any,” Rick argued with a playful punch to Stan’s arm and a dry, exhausted laugh.

Stan pursed his lips but made no comment.  _ Now, I’m not gay, _ his thoughts said,  _ but that guy’s really cute. _

_ What the hell? _ Stan replied.  _ We’ve been selling ourselves to guys for months and you say we’re not gay? _

_ When you put it that way, then I guess you have no excuse for thinking Rick is really hot. _

“Shit,” Stan said, not realizing that it was aloud.

Rick sighed, unamused. “W-what now?” he asked, irritated, expecting more bad news to interrupt his rest.

Stan’s eyes widened just a little bit. “Nothing,” he said. “Like I said, get back to your nap or whatever.” He couldn’t help casting another glance at Rick.  _ Damn, Stan, you’ve got it bad. _

Rick rolled his eyes before closing them entirely with a yawn. “W-whatever,  _ querido _ .”

There it was again, one of those Spanish nicknames. Unfortunately, Stan happened to know a little Spanish. “Why do you do that?” he asked.

“Do what?” Rick grumbled, his tone a bit annoyed.

“Use those nicknames on me, that’s what.” Stan rolled his shoulders to relieve some of the tension. “I don’t get it.”

“I-it’s just a Spanish thing,” Rick dismissed with a slight wave of his hand, “I-I don’t expect y-you to understand them. Not important.”

Stan laughed, and it felt rough and weird in his throat. “I lived in Colombia for almost two years. Of course I understand them. I just wanna know  _ why. _ ”

Rick’s eyes flashed open as his lips drew tight.  _ Well, shit,  _ he thought,  _ This one speaks Spanish. And he understood everything I’ve said. Just great. _ “O-oh,” he spoke quietly, “I-I mean y-you’re nice enough a-and plenty hot,” he basically whispered the last part before speaking up again, “b-but if it bothers you I could…”

Stan waved a dismissive hand. “Nah, it doesn’t bother me.” He hoped his voice sounded natural and not at all squeaky and awkward.  _ He thinks I’m hot, too. _ “It’s just...never had a guy say that kinda stuff to me and it’s...weird.”  _ Well, you fucked that up good, Stanley, _ he chided himself. “I mean--not weird in a bad way, but--”

Rick laughed lightly to himself before turning to look at Stan with a tired, yet genuine look. “W-well, then y-you’ve spent too much time around the wrong guys,  _ cariño. _ ”

Stan shrugged awkwardly. “Every guy I spend time around turns out to be a ‘wrong guy’,” he chuckled. “But…”  _ This is it, Stan. _ “But I think you’re different.” He bit his lip and turned his eyes resolutely back to the road, his muscular arms corded with tension.

Rick blushed a bit, which he tried to cover up with an anxious laugh and swig from his flask. “Y-yeah, well… There are infinite guys like me…”

_ How? _ Stan’s mind said. “Nah,” he heard his mouth say. “You’re the only you out there.” He thought about what Rick said. “You’re talking about those weird dimension things, aren’t you?”

“Maaaaaybe,” Rick dragged out, not really in the mood to explain how all people, ideas, and relationships were easily replaceable and nobody was  _ really _ different. He had a good thing going with this Stan and he wasn’t going to let anybody ruin it. Especially not himself. “B-but don’t think about that too much. Y-you’re a really special guy, you know?”

Stan’s grip tightened a little on the steering wheel. “Nah,” he said gruffly. “Not really. Never really been much of anything. No use to anyone anymore except a good fu--”

“No!” Rick shouted, far louder than he’d intended. He paused for a moment, realizing just how defensive that had sounded, before softening his tone a bit. “Y-you are so much more than that, Lee,” he insisted, “I-I mean I like having you around and w-we haven’t-- but that isn’t important. Y-you’re your own man, Lee. A-and you’re worth something!”

A laugh tore itself from Stan’s tight throat. “Right,” he said. He hesitated, swallowed, tried to get that all-too-familiar lump out of his throat. “And...you, too. You’re…” He coughed. “You’re special, too. I guess.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Or whatever.” He sighed. “What I’m trying to say is, no matter how many yous there are in different dimensions...none of them are gonna be exactly like this one.” And with that, Stan fell silent.

“Hmm,” Rick mused with a slightly forced grin, leaning just a bit closer to Stan, wanting to touch him, but knowing better, “It’s a nice thought,  _ querido. _ ” He chuckled. “O-or whatever.”

_ Yeah, yeah, _ Stan thought, and concentrated on watching the street signs pass. After a long, uncomfortable silence, he said, “So where should we go next?”

Rick thought for a moment before a clever smirk worked its way across his face. “I think I know a place…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave us some kudos/comments if you enjoyed this! Also check out our tumblrs, boat-nectar1 and themindofcc!


	9. Nighttime Encounters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This always happens when Fiddleford is left alone with that THING.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, there's a lot of transphobia in this chapter. Be careful lovelies.

The sun had long since set by the time the brightly-colored van dropped the pair off outside a dingy, yet sleepable inn inside Baton Rouge. “This alright for ya?” Daisy said. “You told us the first one we came to.”

Ford nodded. “This will be adequate. I can’t thank you enough for the ride. I hope we see each other again.”

“Of course, sugar!” Jenny called out cheerily, “If you two e’er need us again, I’m sure we’ll find ya somehow.”

Fidds nodded with a grin. “Thank y’all again fer yer kindness through all this nonsense.”

Daisy nodded and waved them out. “No problem at all, honey. I hope you find your brother! Have fun together!” She smiled.

Fred waved as the door closed, and then the van was driving away. “Well?” Ford said, taking Fidds’s hand. “Shall we?”

Fidds smiled, only holding Ford’s hand lightly in public view. “We shall.”

Ford let his fingers linger between Fidds’s for a moment before pulling away and heading for the inn. “Let’s get our key and get settled. Stanley hasn’t told us where he’s hidden the clue, so...we can spend tonight deciding where it is.”

Fidds sighed, walking along beside Ford. “It’d be great if he just told us where he’s hidden himself.” He followed into the inn reception area, where another couple was ahead of them, checking in with a young man, no older than college age, in a clean red shirt, the name  _ Daryl _ on his gold-plastic name tag.

Ford twitched his hands impatiently as the couple finished checking in and left to settle into their room. “Hi,” he said as he approached the desk and the kid behind it. He put on a friendly smile.

“Hi,” the kid echoed back, smiling nervously, obviously new to the job. He cleared his throat. “How many beds and by the night or the hour?”

Ford glanced at Fidds with a wry look. “Two beds, and by the night, I think.”

“Okay,” Daryl said with a nod, turning back to the wall of keys behind him. “Oh.” He cursed under his breath for having forgotten. “And how many nights?”

“Two,” Ford said gently.

“Got it.” Daryl returned to the desk with a key in hand, holding it out toward Ford. “Twenty dollars, then.”

Ford hissed a breath in through his teeth. “Alright.” He quickly took the key, hoping his hands weren’t too obvious, and rifled through his wallet for a bill. After another tired look at Fidds, he slid the bill to the kid. “Here you are.”

The kid took the money with another anxiously forced smile. “Thanks and enjoy your stay.”

Fidds approached Ford and offered him a weak smile before heading towards the door and out to the rooms.

“Well, at least that wasn’t the  _ most _ awkward encounter I’ve ever had,” Ford joked. “There have definitely been worse interactions.”

Fidds laughed lightheartedly. “You? In an awkward social interaction? I can’t imagine,” he said sarcastically as they reached the door to their room.

The scientist quickly unlocked the door and stepped into the room--which, somehow, was even more mediocre than the previous motel they had stopped in. A sigh escaped Ford as he stared at the barely-basic living conditions: two small, rather lumpy beds, a tiny bathroom, old carpeting, and tar-stained walls. “At least it’s only for two nights,” he said with false optimism.

“At least it’s got beds,” Fidds said as he set his bag next to the overly firm mattress, which he began checking for parasites, “Then again, at least we were allowed ta be high in the van.”

Ford sighed. “We were comfortable there.” He tossed his duffle beside the other bed and began a similar check. “So far, we’ve gotten lucky with these motels.” He made a face as he sat on the bed. “As far as bed bugs go, at least.” 

“Yep. This one’s fine.” Fidds stood back up, sitting on the relatively clean, if uncomfortable surface. “Guess it’ll do fer now anyhow. We’d best put tagether a plan of sorts.”

Ford nodded. “Where would Stan leave a clue?” He mulled the question over. “I think what we need first is a list. Then we can spend these two days we’re here searching and checking places off.”  _ He could have left it anywhere. _

Fidds shrugged. “I don’t even know ‘im.” He thought in silence for a moment. “Although, he does have a likin’ fer landmarks and conveniences it seems.”

Ford dug a notepad out of his bag and began to jot down ideas. “USS Kidd,” he muttered. “That’s the ship from Pearl Harbor. It sits in the river at the edge of the city,” he added.

Fidds nodded. “Sounds about right. Don’t ferget ta check out the casinos ‘round here neither.”

“Yeah--Stanley’s always been adventurous when it came to money.” He gave a wistful smile before jotting the idea down. “And we should also check the capitol buildings, I suppose, since this is the capital city.”

“Alright then. Oh! And I got a cousin not too far from here who says the diners are real good. Couldn’t hurt ta stop by a couple. Afterall, that’s where he left the first.” Fidds smiled just a bit at the edges of his lips, as he almost always did when talking about family.

Ford chuckled as he jotted down,  _ “diners” _ . “You have cousins  _ everywhere, _ love.”

“No, no, that’s just not true,” Fidds said with a laugh, “My family wouldn’t dare live as far north as I do.”

This caused Ford to laugh as well. “Funny, my family would never live anywhere more southern than Virginia.” He rolled his eyes. “They’d rather freeze than live in a place so ‘uncultured’.”

“Uncultured?” Fidds asked, crossing his arms with a frown, a slight offense evident in his tone, “Well, maybe they’d oughta just come by and see how ‘uncultured’ the McGuckets are.”

Ford shrugged. “I don’t make the rules, my dad does. I think you guys are plenty cultured, and I haven’t even met ninety-nine percent of your family.” He grinned at Fidds.

Fidds smiled back and crossed the room to sit next to Ford, maintaining some distance between them. “Could be fer the better. They’re plenty nice, but awful loud.” He shrugged. “Besides, you make yer own rules now. Yer an adult, Stanferd!”

“You haven’t met my father,” Ford muttered, reaching out and lacing his fingers between Fiddleford’s. “He  _ makes _ you follow the rules--no matter how old you are.”

Fiddleford held Ford’s hand tightly, his other hand moving to hold onto Ford’s arm. He looked at him with wide, concerned eyes and shook his head lightly. “No. Not anymore. You are  _ yer own person. _ I don’t care what he says.”

Ford drew his lips tight and said nothing, rubbing absently at his shoulder with his free hand. There was nothing he could say to that--there was nothing  _ to _ say, he felt.

Fidds sat closer to Ford until their shoulders touched, hoping he wasn’t too uncomfortable and wanting to help him relax. “Yer a good person, Stanferd Pines,” he assured quietly.

The scientist leaned his head on Fidds’s shoulder and allowed himself a pale approximation of a smile. “Thanks, love,” he murmured. “So are you.”

“Hmm,” Fidds hummed before pressing a kiss to the top of Ford’s head, “E’rybody sure likes ta think so. I guess I do my best.”

Ford felt the grin tugging at his lips. “Ah, stop being modest. You’re wonderful!” He kissed Fidds’s chin--which was the closed thing to his cheek that he could reach at the moment--and gave his hand a playful squeeze.

“Ah, no I’m not!” Fidds insisted, “I’m just like anybody else, darlin’.” He squeezed Ford’s hand back. “Yer the real special one.”

Ford sat up all the way, not bothering to stop the grin that crinkled his eyes at the corners. “Are we really going to have this discussion again?” he asked, pressing his forehead to the engineer’s. “Because I don’t think it will stop once we start.”

Fidds chuckled and gazed over the top of his low-sitting glasses into Ford’s deep, brown eyes with a dazed smile. “I dunno,” he spoke softly, “Ain’t got much else ta do at the moment.”

“Oh, I can think of a few things,” Ford whispered with a laugh, and then he kissed him.

Fidds leaned into the kiss with a pleased hum, wrapping his free arm around Ford’s broad shoulders. He pulled away for just a moment. “Alright. This certainly is better than that ol’ argument.”

“Mmm,” Ford agreed, nuzzling his nose against Fiddleford’s. “You can say that again.”

Fidds chuckled quietly before kissing Ford again, allowing his hand to move to the back of Ford’s head, running his fingers carefully through his hair.

Ford returned the gesture, carding his six fingers lazily through the golden-brown curls on his partner’s head. “Let’s...not go any farther,” he said, breaking the kiss once more. “I don’t...not tonight. Not here.”

Fidds’s eyes widened. “Oh of course not! I wasn’t… I wasn’t gonna-!” He nervously cleared his throat. “Of course. I wouldn’t pressure ya. Besides, it’s late anyhow.”

Ford lowered his gaze. “I know, I know….” He pressed his face to Fidds’s shoulder and added in a rather muffled voice, “I’m rather terrible at keeping the mood, aren’t I?”

“No, no, no! Of course not!” Fidds assured, rubbing his hand into Ford’s shoulder soothingly, “I just like bein’ here with ya. I wouldn’t want to anyhow. Not tonight.” He looked around the poor state of the room. “Not  _ here. _ ” He whispered closer to Ford’s ear, “And  _ especially  _ not ‘till yer ready.”

“Okay,” Ford mumbled, and flopped back against the nearly solid pillow with a soft  _ thunk. _ “How are we even going to sleep here?” he groaned.

Fidds sighed, leaning forward a bit to rest his chin in his hands. “Hmm. Not sure. Guess ya better just try ta relax fer now.” He stood up and gestured to his own bed. “Want some space fer the night?”

Ford nodded and made a noncommittal noise. “I don’t think we’d both be able to sleep on one of these at the same time, anyway.”

Fidds nodded. “Alright, then.” He grabbed some loose pajamas from his bag and headed to the bathroom to change.

With a sigh, Ford rolled off the bed and changed into his own pajamas rather quickly, his fingers skimming over a scar on his shoulder that he hadn’t thought about in years as he did so. “I’m decent, Fidds, whenever you are,” he announced, before letting himself flop backwards once more onto the mattress, which groaned but resisted his weight. The fall knocked his breath from his lungs and he wheezed an “ow” as he sat up.

Fidds quickly rushed out of the bathroom, completely clothed in a baggy shirt and soft pants. “Are ya alright?” he asked, a bit panicked, “Sounded like ya fell!”

Ford groaned. “Ugh, yes, I’m fine. These mattresses are…” He fumbled for a word. “...Resistant.” He coughed once. “Don’t fall onto them. They won’t soften the landing at all.”

Fiddleford nodded with a look of concern. “Understood.” He  _ carefully _ climbed into his own bed, crawling under the thin covers, glad that it was plenty warm back home in the south. “G’night, darlin’!”

Ford slid under his own covers, clutching the crystal around his neck tight as he closed his eyes and tried to relax. “Goodnight, my love,” he replied, and, despite the amount of rest he’d gotten in the van, soon drifted off.

* * *

Bill opened his eyes. It was dark; he didn’t care. He knew who was in the other bed. He cleared his throat. “Ahem. Wakey wakey, Fiddlestrings McSuckit.”

Fidds rolled his eyes with a sigh and grew anxious, wishing the crystal could have paralyzed Ford’s whole body while asleep, but still glad that, for once, he could technically breathe. “I’m not interested,” he stated simply, hoping to deter the demon.

“Oh, but I have some very interesting new inside information. Wouldn’t you like to hear it... _ Francine?” _

All at once, Fidds bolted up right, throwing the blanket to the floor and staring with heartbroken eyes at Ford’s still body. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He wanted to shout. To ask how he knew that name. Had Ford told him? Had he betrayed his trust like that? The very thought made him sick to his stomach. He took a deep breath, knowing that such a reaction was exactly what Bill wanted. He spoke as calmly as he could, almost in a whisper, “That is  _ not _ my name.”

“Ah, but it  _ was, _ ” Bill cackled. “I know LOTS OF THINGS, Franny. I see EVERYTHING. Every string of time, every second of every puny human life, every dream in everyone’s heads. Every desire...every  _ fear. _ ”

Fidds bit his lip. Infinite knowledge. Of course the idea was tempting and Bill seemed ready to talk, but Fiddleford knew better. He knew when something was too good to be true. He crossed his arms. “I’m not interested,” he said in somewhat of a half lie.

“You know,” Bill continued conversationally, as if he hadn’t even heard Fiddleford, “it’s never too early to recognize a  _ phase, _ Fran. Who knows? Someday you might grow out of this, and realize that you were just a heterosexual--but confused--woman the whole time.” He grinned.

Fidds drew in a shaky breath, not wanting to hear this yet again. He wanted to do something to just stop this. To get rid of the demon entirely. But, he couldn’t even find it in himself to talk in that moment. He felt a familiar pressure behind his eyes and silently turned to lay back down, facing away.

“And what will dear  _ Fordsy _ think of you then?” Bill whispered gleefully, recognizing his building victory. “Good ol’ Six-Fingers isn’t interested in  _ women,  _ now, is he? So when you grow out of this  _ unnatural phase _ of yours, he’s just gonna leave you in the dust...and he’s gonna go back to his science, and you’re gonna be alone.” The malicious grin on his face widened. “Better watch out, Franny,” he giggled.

“...won’t,” Fidds finally managed to get out. “I-I  _ won’t _ ‘grow outta this.’ This is…” He sighed, finding it increasingly difficult to say much of anything. He looked down at a trembling hand as his eyes began to water. “This is  _ who I am. _ ”

“Who you are?” Bill laughed mockingly. “It’s a mistake, Franny! A misunderstanding! Do you think your parents wanted another  _ son? _ They were happy with their daughter! And then you turn around and tell them,  _ sorry, my name is Fiddlenerd... _ and what kind of a name is that anyway?” The demon uttered a shrill giggle. “You take their daughter away, you make up a weird name, you move all the way to California--it’s almost like you  _ wanted _ to disappoint your  _ dear old Ma and Pa.” _ Bill sighed and added, in a mocking, sarcastic tone, “But that’s okay, because this is  _ who you are. _ ”

Fidds clung to his pillow as the tears began streaming down his face, soaking into the thin fabric of the bed. He was shaking and gasping silently for the air that seemed to have forgotten him. “Y-you…” he said bitterly, the tears evident in his voice, “d-don’t even  _ know _ my parents!” It was dark and felt colder than it surely was and his only source of comfort, the only person he could turn to, was suddenly the one tormenting him, and he didn’t even know it.

“Oh, don’t I?” Bill sneered. “Harold and Sally McGucket, two quiet, happy people living in Alabama with nine children--one of whom decided that she wasn’t like the others--she wanted to change everything and move away. Two quiet, happy people who suddenly lost their vibrant, beautiful little girl to a social movement that was unnatural, unbiblical, and wrong.” He sighed, exaggeratedly wistful. “How sad,” he tutted, “to think that such nice, kind, and wonderful people had to lose such a lovely daughter to the dangers of society.”

A quiet sob escaped Fiddleford, regrettably still audible, when he realized Bill really did know his parents and began to wonder if that’s what they really thought. If they’d lied to him just to make him feel better in the hopes that this too would one day pass. He couldn’t bring himself to argue anymore as his heart raced. It felt like every word thrown against him added a crushing weight to his chest, making it harder and harder to breathe or move as panic consumed him.

_ Point for Cipher, _ Bill thought smugly, and the yellow faded from Ford’s eyes as Bill left the scene.

* * *

Morning shone through the windows with a pale orange light as the sun rose. A bird gave an enthusiastic twitter outside one of the dirty windows before fluttering away. Ford woke slowly and agonizingly as every single part of his body ached from the terrible mattress. He groaned as he sat up. “Ooooh...good morning, love,” he said, his gaze falling on the figure in the other bed.

Fidds jumped at the voice before recognizing the friendlier tone and, barely, relaxing. “O-oh. Mornin’,” he said in a tired voice. He’d slept only a few hours, repeatedly being awoken from shallow sleep by panic and the beginning of nightmares. He sat up and rubbed a hand over a sore, red eye, still unable to face Ford.

“I take it you didn’t sleep well?” Ford chuckled. “I don’t blame you, these mattresses are hell.” He stood and let out another pained noise. “Jesus...I need coffee. And a good massage,” he added as an afterthought.

“Yeah,” Fidds said quietly as he searched hastily through his bag for a button-up, jeans, underwear, and his binder before walking back to the bathroom as quickly as he could, careful to avoid looking at Ford on his way.

“I’ll try to sketch a route for our search today before we leave,” Ford said absently, pulling on a white T-shirt and a pair of dark-wash jeans. “Does that sound good?”

Fidds nodded as if Ford could see him through the door, not wanting to actually speak. He finished getting dressed in silence before coming back out, glad to finally wear his binder again, and sitting at the edge of the bed, still facing away from Ford.

Meanwhile, Ford had snatched up the notebook and was scribbling lines, streets, and destinations all over it, copying from the tattered map they had. He was muttering to himself as he worked, paying little attention to Fiddleford. Finally, though, he looked up. “Alright, I have a fairly straightforward route,” he declared proudly. “It’s still going to take us a good portion of the day, but I thought we could walk past a couple of the old capitol buildings as we go, too.” He grinned. “What do you think, love?”

Pulling his knees up to his chest, still finding it difficult to breathe normally, Fiddleford managed to nod in response, still associating Bill’s words with Ford’s voice.  _ What would he think? _ Fidds wondered,  _ I’m really just not enough for him. He doesn’t see me as real. _

“...Fiddleford?” Concern edged Ford’s voice. “Are you...alright?” He approached the engineer cautiously.

Flinching at the sound of footsteps, Fidds looked back at Ford briefly, not daring to look at his face. “I-I’m fine,” he lied quietly.

Ford nodded slowly. “I see. You’re just...not normally this quiet. Are you feeling okay? You sure you’re not sick?”

“I’m perfectly healthy the way I am!” Fidds snapped loudly, not even sure how he got to that point, before falling silent again, hiding his face in his arms.

Ford took a step back. “Sorry,” he backpedaled. “Of course you are...I was just...wondering….” He stared at the map in his hand. “Want to go out for breakfast?” he offered weakly.

Fidds sat up and nodded, rubbing at an eye that felt like it should be crying, but was entirely out of tears after last night. “Yeah. Sure. I…” He looked back at Ford, finally looking at his soft, concerned face and instantly regretting snapping at him. “I’m sorry, darlin’. Just… I’m just tired is all.”

“It’s perfectly alright, my love,” Ford replied gently. “We really should have chosen a different motel.” He scrunched up his face with distaste. “But this is what we get, I suppose,” he continued. “So...you, me, a fairly affordable diner?” He held out a hand with a soft smile. “What do you say?”

Fidds took the hand lightly and forced a smile in return. “Sounds like a date,” he said as he rose from the bed, somewhat more comfortable standing than on the terrible surface.

On a whim, Ford lifted the hand to his lips and pressed a light kiss to the back of it. “Onward, then, I say,” he smiled, and led Fidds out the door, locking it tight behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyyyy, leave us some kindness down below if you enjoyed this! Also don't forget to check out our tumblrs, boat-nectar1 and themindofcc!


	10. Panic! at the Diner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fiddleford falls apart. The Dynamic Duo searches the city for clues. Stan and Rick play 20 Questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late chapter! Things got held up for a bit.  
> Anyway, warning for panic attacks, prostitution mention, and mentions of past child abuse.

Ford watched Fidds from across the table in a small, hole-in-the-wall diner with concern. “Are you certain you’re alright, love? You’ve barely touched your food.”

“Mhm,” Fidds muttered quietly with a nod as he stirred his glass of water nervously, the ice spinning into a small vortex. His leg bounced as incessantly as his thoughts flooded through his head.  _ He knows. He knows everything! What if he's right? What if he’ll leave me? _

Worry gnawed at Ford but he smiled slightly and said, “If you’re sure.”

Fidds forced himself to look up at Ford with a meek smile, making eye contact and hoping the redness had subsided. “I am.”

Ford returned the smile with a relieved expression. “That's good. You really should eat something, though. You'll need your energy today.”

Fidds sighed and reluctantly took a small bite of a dry piece of toast before pushing his plate back, seemingly content. “There. I'm not too hungry.”

“Wow; a McGucket not finishing his meal. What would your parents say?” Ford joked, trying to ease his worry.

Suddenly, Fidds’s heart began racing and his breaths became shallow and rapid. His mind raced back to everything Bill had said.  _ My parents. He knew them! What do they think? God, I'm a disappointment. I've let them all down. Maybe I should… _ “I dunno…” he whispered meekly, quickly looking away from Ford and running his hands nervously through his hair, trying to focus on filling his lungs: a task turned impossible.

“Fidds? Fidds, what is it?” Ford said worriedly.  _ What did I say? _ “What happened?”  _ He’s having a panic attack, _ he realized.  _ I have to calm him down. _ The scientist reached out a hand and began rubbing a circle into the back of Fiddleford's hand. “Shh,” he whispered. “Just breathe with the circle.”

Fidds slowed his breathing to the rounds of each circle, still choppy and shallow. He shook his head, still staring down. “I… c-can't…” he said between breaths.

“Can you stand?” Ford asked quietly. “We can go somewhere more private if you think you can get up.”

Fiddleford nodded silently and slowly rose on shaky legs, searching through his pocket for his wallet to pay for the food.

“Let me,” Ford insisted, taking the wallet and quickly laying a few bills on the table before offering an arm for Fidds to lean on. “Come on, let’s go.”

Keeping steady on Ford’s arm, Fidds let himself be led away. He was only frightened more by the idea of what the other patrons must think of him. What they must think of  _ them _ . He kept his head down, hiding his face.

Seeing a few people staring, Ford said, “I'm sorry, my friend is ill. Don't worry,” he added in a whisper to Fidds. “I've got you.” 

He led the shaking engineer outside and hurried them back to the motel, which was only a block away. Unlocking the door, he pulled Fidds into the room and held him close. “Shh,” he murmured soothingly. “Listen to my breathing.”

Fidds clung to his boyfriend, pressing his face into Ford’s shoulder. “I'm sorry. I-I shouldn'ta’...” he whispered, gradually breathing easier, allowing for speech.

“No, no,” Ford said, “there's nothing to be sorry for. Just calm down and then tell me what's wrong, dearest.”

Sitting back, Fidds shook his head vehemently. “No, no. I-it was nothin’. Just a… just a nightmare!” he lied, “I don't wanna worry you.”

“Fidds,” Ford sighed. “Please.”

Fidds let out a heavy sigh and swallowed hard. “He said… things last night. Terrible, awful things-- but I'm really alright!” he insisted, “It just… concerned me, is all.”

Ford tried his best not to clench his hands around Fidds's arms. “What did he say to you?” he asked in a dangerously quiet voice.

“Just…” Fidds sighed. “Things about my family and my name and about you and sayin’ that I'm not…” His voice trailed off. “I just… I just wanna stay with you.”

Ford pulled Fidds into another embrace. “Of course you can stay with me. You can't believe anything he says, love. Bill lies.”

Fidds held Ford tightly, almost afraid that he might leave. “It was just all so… so cruel! A-and he knows so much about ev’rybody! What if…” He painfully held back a sob. “What if he's right? If I just disappointed ev’rybody? My parents, my siblings… you?”

“No,” Ford said gently, stroking Fidds's hair, “you haven't disappointed anyone. I promise. Bill says he knows everything, but he only knows what's in our minds and uses that against us.”

“Huh,” Fidds half-laughed dryly, “I guess that explains how he knew my parents’ names and, well, my legal one.” He nodded and sat back to look at Ford properly. “I'm alright, really. Thanks, darlin’.”

Ford smiled and kissed Fiddleford’s forehead. “No problem.”

“Right, then,” Fidds smiled weakly, “We’d better git goin’ ta look fer yer brother anyhow.”

“Of course,” Ford agreed. “We need to look for that clue!” He strode to the door with purpose written in his posture. “Let's go!”

“We’ve got lots of lookin’ ta do!” Fidds announced confidently as he swung the door open and headed out ahead of Ford and into the city of Baton Rouge.

* * *

The first few stops were a string of local casinos, most just barely open and nearly empty upon the couple’s arrival. Ford described to each manager “a man who looks like me, but without glasses.” Almost every one of them responded with a scowl, and a few even kicked them out for cheating the last time Stanley was there, but none had a note.

The next few stops were different diners and hole-in-the-wall restaurants scattered throughout the city. The people who worked there were very nice, but none of them had seen Stanley. “But I did see this real skinny guy with blue hair,” the manager of a tiny sandwich shop said with a shrug. “He was really weird. Made rude gestures at everyone.”

Ford shook his head. “We don’t know him.”

They spent several hours searching such places, even stopping for lunch, before eventually arriving at the USS Kidd. It was already starting to turn late again, though the sun still shone warm and humid by the river where the ship sat as a museum.

“There it is,” Ford breathed. “I’ve actually wanted to see this ship for a while now.” He turned to look at Fidds with a grin. “Let’s take a look around!”

“Sure!” Fidds nodded, approaching the dock. “Should be interestin’. Plus, it’s our last idea fer the note.”

Ford checked the signs outside the ship. “Fidds! I think I found it!” he exclaimed, holding up a tightly-folded piece of paper that had been stuck to the back of an informational sign.

“Wonderful! What does it say?” Fidds asked, excitedly running up next to Ford.

“It says,” Ford muttered as he quickly decoded the scramble of letters, “‘There sure are lots of babes to see in shiny Nashville, Tennessee.’” He grinned. “Of course Stanley would focus on the girls there.”

“Oh,” Fiddleford mused, “Yer brother’s a real womanizer, huh?”

Ford laughed. “I suppose he is. Or maybe that’s just the way he was raised.”

“What d’ya mean by that?” Fidds asked, a bit perplexed.

“Well, our father is a bit of a womanizer himself,” Ford explained, fidgeting with the paper in his hands. “It’s only natural that we’d grow up learning from his actions.”

Fidds crossed his arms with a frown. “Hmm. From what ya told me so far, doesn't much sound like a man I'd like ta meet.”

Ford shook his head vehemently. “He’s not. He doesn’t like...people like us. Part of the...community, I guess,” Ford faltered.

“I see,” Fidds said, a bit disappointed, “Well, I s’pose we oughta find a ride ta Nashville, then. I doubt we’ll git so lucky as ta find a van like the last one again.”

Ford thought about this. “Hey,” he said slowly, “didn’t you say you had a cousin near here?”

Fidds nodded. “Yeah. My cousin Jimmy. He's alright,” he explained with a shrug.

“Well, how far from here is he?” Ford continued, trying to formulate a plan.

“Not too far.” He gestured to the water atop which the ship rested. “Few miles downriver, outta town.”

“Great!” Ford exclaimed. “We’ve just got to catch a taxi to his house and ask him to quick take us to Nashville--or as close as we can get.” His mind was running a million miles a minute, calculating possible outcomes, responses, timings, and drawbacks. “Of course, if he can’t take us all the way there, the route goes right through Alabama. He could just drop us off at your parents’ place and we’ll snag a ride from someone else.”

“Of course!” Fidds exclaimed with a smile, “That should work out just fine! I haven't seen ‘im in o’er a year, but I'm sure it'll be alright.”

Ford gave himself a congratulatory smile for thinking of such a great plan. “Wonderful,” he said. “Let’s go back to the motel; we’ll find your cousin first thing tomorrow.”

Fidds nodded in agreement. “Alright. I could call ‘im from the motel that way anyhow and give ‘im a bit of warnin’.” He smiled. “Plus, I’m sure ya could use another night ta relax before gettin’ back on the road.”

“Yeah,” Ford said. “But we’ll have to find some way to keep…” He hesitated. “...to keep you-know-who quiet.”

Fidds bit his lip nervously. “Yes. Of course.” He thought carefully for a moment. “I know it ain’t ideal, but, well…” He sighed. “He worked through the…  _ stuff _ and this crystal ain’t about ta shut ‘im up, so maybe we could take a physical method to keep him from speaking. Like, a cloth er some duct tape?”

Ford considered their few options. “Using a cloth might work,” he mused. “But I am  _ not _ putting duct tape on my face, Fiddleford.”

“Okay, alright, that’s a fair demand,” Fiddleford conceded, raising his hands placatingly, “Any idea on how ta go about this right?”

Ford shrugged. “We’ll figure that out back at the motel, I suppose. Come on; it’s getting dark.”

Fiddleford nodded and began walking back, away from the river, his feet sore from the trek across the city. “Yeah. Alright, then.”

When they arrived back at the motel, it was dark and the pair was completely exhausted. Ford unlocked the door, entered the room, and sat heavily down on his bed. “I never thought I’d be  _ happy _ to see these beds,” he muttered.

“Ha!” Fidds chuckled heartily. “You oughta try workin’ on the farm sometime!” he offered, “One time, my sister and I up and fell asleep on a pile of hay!” He sat on the edge of his own bed, kicking off his tight shoes.

“That still sounds more comfortable than these barely-padded bricks,” Ford joked, shucking his own shoes off and beginning to unbutton his shirt.

Fidds shrugged. “Bricks ain’t too bad neither if ya git used to ‘em.” He laughed a bit and quickly took off his own shirt and binder, which had grown especially uncomfortable in the familiar southern sun.

Ford grinned while averting his eyes, making sure Fidds got a bit of privacy. “How would you know that?” he asked.

“Like I told ya, darlin’,” Fidds explained as he pulled a baggy concert t-shirt over his head, “farm work is real tirin’.”

Digging around in his duffel for his loose pajama shirt, Ford laughed. “So you’d just fall asleep wherever?” He pictured a house full of children dozing on the floor, the parents trying not to trip over the human landmines.

“Oh, just when I was real little. Musta been… four? Five?” Fiddleford shrugged. “I ain’t exactly sure.”

Ford slipped his pajama shirt over his head and blinked owlishly at Fidds, his brown hair sticking up oddly. “That’s adorable,” he stated.

Fidds chuckled with a smile. “Oh, well, most kids are anyhow. And my family’s still got plenty. Usually more each year.”

Ford shook his head with an appalled look. “ _ My _ mother could barely handle the three of us. I don’t know how yours manages nine.”

Fidds shrugged. “I dunno. It's a mystery to us all.” He smirked, laying back on the stiff mattress. “Maybe we're just  _ special _ .”

With a laugh, Ford carefully reclined on his own mattress. “Perhaps you are.” Then, more quietly, “Perhaps  _ your _ mother actually knows what she's doing.”

“Do any parents?” Fidds asked, looking back towards Ford, “Really?”

“Some more than others.” The scientist's eyes traced the water stains on the ceiling. “I guess they all try their best.”

Fidds sat up, still not entirely sure of Ford’s upbringing, but knowing enough. His eyes darted to the floor, then cautiously back up at Ford. “That still don't make it right,” he explained in a hushed voice.

“What do you mean?” The question, laced with trepidation, hung in the air as Ford considered the possible meanings of Fidds’s soft utterance. “Doesn’t it matter at all? Trying?”

“Of course it matters, it's just-” Fidds barely raised a hand anxiously. He cleared his throat. “All I mean ta day is some thangs just ain't right. Even if yer tryin’, there’re just some thangs ya can't do.”

“I don't understand,” Ford muttered, feeling that his words held a certain finality. He turned onto his side, away from Fidds. He almost didn't  _ want _ to understand.

Fidds leaned forward briefly, about to speak and explain himself, but immediately regretting putting Ford in such a situation. He leaned back, staring down at the floor. “It's… it’s nothin’...”

Ford shut his eyes tight. They ached suddenly; most likely from stress. But more than that, he was...hearing things. And it wasn't Bill. Terrible things, in a terrible voice. It had been eight years since he'd heard that voice.

“Maybe…” he whispered, “maybe you're right.”

Fidds glanced up at Ford, surprised, pausing silently for a moment. “I s’pose I could be,” he agreed meekly.

Ford sighed, sitting up and looking anywhere other than Fidds’s face. “There's a lot, I think, that I have refused to address for several years.” He bit his lip and twitched his fingers nervously. “Or at all, really,” he added. “My father-” And there he cut himself off, his fingers digging suddenly into the dreadful mattress as a memory of pain burned across his shoulder.

Fidds drew closer slowly until he was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at Ford with sad eyes through tear-marked glasses. “You don't hafta talk now if ya don't want to,” he suggested, taking note of his boyfriend’s obvious discomfort.

Ford gritted his teeth. “But you deserve to know,” he muttered. “You have to know….”

Delicately, Fidds placed a hand over one of Ford’s, which was painfully straining against the mattress. “That doesn't mean I hafta know right now,” he said, gently shaking his head.

Ford leaned his head tiredly against Fidds’s chest. “Thank you.”

* * *

“Yep, he was a real dickhead,” Stan commented rather too cheerily for the current conversation. “How ‘bout you?”

Rick flicked his cigarette out the window and kicked his feet up onto the dashboard. “What? Y-y-you couldn't guess the daddy issues from a-all this  _ promiscuity _ ?” he asked sarcastically with a dry laugh, “I-I think I heard someone say there are a lotta dads in hell. A-assuming we aren't already there.”

Stan shrugged. “Wanted to make sure before I assumed and started askin’  _ real  _ personal shit.” He paused. “We’re still doing twenty questions, right?”

Rick coughed from the smoke still built up in his lungs and nodded as best he could. “Y-yeah,” he said as his breathing returned, “Y-your turn I think.”

“Alright,” Stan breathed, drumming his hands on the steering wheel as he thought. “Uh...how many guys’ve you slept with?” he asked with a wink.

Rick laughed and opened his mouth to answer, but then quickly shut it, finding himself doing the math in his head.  _ Should I include the aliens or..? Nah. I don't wanna explain that to him.  _ Counting out a bit on his fingers, he looked back up at Stan and answered semi-confidently, “F-fifteen.”

“That’s it?” Stan laughed. “Shit, dude, I screwed more guys my first  _ week _ sellin’!” He considered this. “Then again, I did that shit for cash. You did it for fun.” He thought some more. “Huh. I've only had two.” With a shake of his head, he said, “How’d you even do that? Fifteen?”

Rick shrugged, biting his lip. He always hated to think about the kind of things Stan had had to do. “G-got lonely, went places, met people… w-we were all pretty drunk.” He shook his head. “I-it was just better than being alone a-and they must've agreed.”

Stan let out low whistle. “Ya didn't need ta get so deep,” he grinned.

Rick smiled back. “Y-yeah, buddy. L-l-let's get back to the fun stuff. L-like child abuse!”

Stan cringed but nodded. He wasn't gonna think about Ford. Not now. He wasn't gonna think about the scar on his twin’s shoulder, ‘cause that was in the past. “Yep,” he agreed, trying to imbibe his voice with strength he didn't feel. “Back to the fun stuff.”

* * *

“Alright,” Ford said, “I’m fairly certain that this will keep Bill’s words muffled enough that he can’t say anything to you.” He stared at the bright red handkerchief in his hands. “Let’s hope it doesn’t slip off in the night.”

Fidds waved the concern away. “If it does, don't ya worry. I've tied up many more difficult creatures in my day.”

Ford grimaced and decided to refrain from asking. “Well, let’s give it a go.” He gazed at the cloth for a moment before laughing awkwardly. “I’m not entirely certain how to do this right.” The handkerchief was offered to his boyfriend. “A little help?”

Fidds nodded calmly, although he himself had never gotten around to gagging a person before. “Um, sure thang.” He took the cloth in his hands and twisted it into a rope-like line of fabric. Leaning in carefully close to Ford’s face, he lined the binding up just millimeters from his lips. “You sure this is alright?”

“It’s the only way,” Ford said nobly.

Fidds nodded with a quiet grunt of approval. He slid the handkerchief tightly back against Ford’s mouth, pulling at his cheeks and catching at the back of his jaw. He tied it firmly behind Ford’s head and then stood back with a worried expression. “I just dunno. Are ya even gonna be able ta sleep like this?”

Ford shrugged and made a series of noises that were supposed to sound like “I’ll make do”, but came out more like “Mmm mfph mmm.”

Fidds nodded and bit at a knuckle. “Okay, alright, then. You can untie yerself if ya hafta, but at least  _ he _ can't.”

Ford signified that he agreed with this by nodding his head, making elaborate hand gestures, and attempting to make his muffled syllables sound somewhat affirmative.  _ Yes, _ he thought,  _ this should be perfect. Bill will end up being humiliated into submission. _

“Alright.” Fidds sat on his own bed, leaning back against the headrest. “You try ta git some rest, then.” He pulled the thin sheets over his own legs and attempted to settle in between the insufferable mattress and the weight of his own anxiety.

Likewise, Ford rested his head against the rather flat pillow and tucked the sheets around his shoulders, closing his eyes and hoping that he would, for once, be able to sleep without a demon controlling his mouth. He also hoped that this gag wouldn’t dry out his mouth too much. The cottony taste he was going to wake up with was going to be bad enough.  _ You might as well get used to it, _ he chided himself.  _ This is what you’re going to have to do until you can get rid of Bill. _

He took several deep breaths through his nose to calm himself and relax his body before suddenly, silently, slipping into sleep.

For the first time since he’d read the cave inscription aloud, Stanford Pines’s eyes did not glow yellow as he slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave us kudos/comments if you enjoyed, and feel free to check out our tumblrs!


	11. First Stop Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stanford and Fiddleford catch a ride to Alabama. Stanley and Rick have in-depth conversations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back and with a brand-new installment for you!

That morning, Fiddleford opened his eyes, feeling more rested than he had in weeks. Of course, it wasn't the best rest. Bill’s muffled taunts persisted for perhaps an hour before going silent and his dreams were certainly short of comforting, but better than before. And he'd settle for that.

Ford, meanwhile, woke up slowly and painfully. His throat ached and his mouth was very dry. He groaned and quickly yanked the bandana off of his face. “I can’t believe this was the best plan,” he complained hoarsely. “This is dreadful.”

“Well,” Fidds began, sitting up on the edge of the bed and rubbing the back of his neck, “If it's really that bad I guess I could… think of somethin’ else.”

“ _ Is _ there anything else?” Ford asked, rather testily. “I’m pretty sure we’ve considered all our options at this point.”

“I dunno,” Fidds confessed, biting his lip, “I just… I wanna help.”

Ford’s face softened. “You have been, love. You really have. And I really...appreciate everything you’ve been doing.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have complained. This  _ was _ our best option.”

Fidds nodded reluctantly. “Okay, but only if yer really alright with it.”

“I...I’ll get used to it.” Ford managed a smile. “Now, I would  _ really _ love a drink of water.” He coughed meaningfully. “Breakfast, then we call your cousin?”

Fidds smiled slightly with a nod. “Sure thang!” he said as he stood and began gathering his things.

Bag quickly packed, Ford made sure his bed was at least somewhat tidy and the room was clean. “Shall we?” he asked, standing in front of the door as Fidds finished packing.

Fidds finished up and slung his bag over his shoulder, walking up to meet Ford at the door. “We shall,” he declared with a quick kiss on the cheek, resisting the urge to hold Ford’s hand as they stepped into public view.

Breakfast was quick, even with Ford’s three orders of orange juice, then they accessed the payphone in the diner. “I sure hope you remember your cousin’s number,” Ford laughed.

“O’ course I do!” Fidds assured as he plunked in a dime and typed in the number, “He's family, after all.” The telephone rang for a few seconds before a similarly southern voice picked up.

“Y’ello, Jimmy speakin’.”

“Hey! Jimmy! It's Fiddleford! How ya doin’?”

“Fidds? It’s been ages, cousin! Whatcha callin’ for? Somethin’ happen with Aunt Sally? Didja finally get famous offa them gadgets?”

“No, no, mama’s doin’ just fine and I sure wish.” He laughed lightheartedly. “Nah, ya see I'm actually ‘round Baton Rouge, not too far from yer house with a friend o’ mine. We were wonderin’ if you'd mind givin’ us a ride, seein’ as we had ta leave our car behind.”

“We-e-ell,” Jimmy drawled, “that all depends on where y’all are goin’ to. Buster’s gettin’ big, and his mama’s got ‘er hands full with the other two kiddos, so I’ve gotta be ‘round ta help her out when I’m not workin’. But I could probably drive y’all back to yer ma’s house if ya wanted.”

“That’d actually be real great if ya could! I hate ta bother ya, but it’d be a big help.”

“It’s no bother at all, cousin! Family helps family. Get yerselves over here lickety split and I’ll drive y’all home.”

“Thank ya lots, Jimmy! We’ll be there as soon as we can!” Fidds quickly wrapped up the conversation with their  _ goodbye _ s and turned back to Ford. “Well, it ain't ta Nashville, but we got ourselves a ride ta Alabama!”

“It’s closer than we are now, and I’m certain  _ somebody _ there will be able to give us a lift to Nashville,” Ford agreed. “This is wonderful.” He grinned. “Let’s catch a taxi to his house. Come on.” They exited the diner chipperly.

It only took Fidds a few minutes to hail a cab and spout out the address. Not long after that, he paid the cabbie, and stepped out in front of a large, suburban house with a country-sized yard.

“Wow,” Ford said approvingly, “what a nice place.” He paused, biting his lip. “ _ You _ knock on the door,” he said nervously, his hands quickly flying behind his back.

“O’ course,” Fidds agreed, approaching the house, “My family, after all.” He overlooked the doorbell and loudly knocked on the door, the reverberations echoing, even audible from outside the house.

Distantly, Ford heard  _ “Jim! The door!” “I’m gettin’ it, hon!” _ and what sounded like fifteen babies crying at the same time before the door was flung open and a relatively young, frazzled-looking man stood there with a grin that looked exactly like Fiddleford’s. “Hiya, you two!” he said. “Y’all wanna come in while I get myself together?”

“Sure thang, Jimmy! Thanks fer lettin’ us over.” Fidds walked comfortably into the house, which was large with country decorations, and as clean as a home could be with three children.

“So, Fidds, who’s yer friend?” Jimmy asked casually, looking Ford up and down. Ford clenched his hands tightly behind his back.

“I’m Stanford. Stanford Pines,” Ford said rather stiffly, heart racing. He remembered now why he didn’t like strangers as Fiddleford’s cousin eyed him. “Y-you can call me Ford,” he added.

“Nice ta meet ya,” Jimmy said pleasantly. “Minerva, where’re the car keys?”

Fidds whispered to Ford while Jimmy looked away, “He's alright, ya know. ‘Bout people like myself.”

“I know, I know,” Ford sighed under his breath. “I’m...wary around strangers.” He quickly waved a hand at Fidds. “Because of these.”

Fidds reached up and held the hand in his own. “I understand. And I won't say nothin’ that ya don't want.”

Jimmy turned back to look at them with an apologetic expression and Ford tried to place his hand behind his back again but found himself stopped by Fiddleford’s grip. If the man noticed their linked hands, he didn’t show it. “Sorry, folks,” he said, “it’ll be a moment. My wife’s gone and misplaced the keys.” He shrugged. “Want some lemonade while we look for ‘em?”

Fidds nervously loosened his grip and cleared his throat, embarrassed to have outed Ford so quickly. “Um, sure, yes please. That’d be… ahem, that'd be real nice.” He forced an anxious grin.

“Of course.” Jimmy turned to enter the kitchen, then turned back. “Y’all don’t have to worry about anything,” he said kindly. “I ain’t gonna judge ya.”

Ford’s face flushed bright red. “Uh, thanks,” he said awkwardly.

Jimmy grinned. “You two are real cute. Now! Some lemonade!” He strolled into the kitchen, calling out, “Minerva! Put Penelope down for two minutes to find them keys, please!”

Fidds looked at Ford with apologetic eyes. “I'm so sorry! I didn't think… I mean if ya weren't ready ta… I'm sorry.”

“Fidds.” Ford turned to face his boyfriend. “Don’t be sorry. I’m fine.” He glanced at the kitchen. “Besides, he doesn’t care, just like you said.” A slight smile played across his face, and the wailing from an adjacent room grew slightly louder. “Is your whole family this chaotic, by the way?”

A loud clamor followed from the same room. Fidds shrugged without any reaction to the sound. “Dunno what ya mean.”

Ford burst out laughing at about the same time that a woman started spouting half-formed curse words, most likely directed at the loudly crying children, before she stepped through a doorway and suddenly stood in front of them. The wailing was very loud, coming from a tiny girl dressed all in pink, and the woman was doing her best to get the kid to quiet down while attempting to search the shelves and floors. “Hello, Fidds,” she said absently, and, without seeming to realize that she’d done it, passed the baby to Ford. “Thanks, hon.” Then she wandered down the small hall and disappeared into another room.

Ford stopped laughing.

“Nice seein’ ya, Minerva!” Fidds called after her before turning back to Ford. “Oh,” he said, noting his discomfort, “Are ya alright, er d’ya want me to take her?”

Ford didn’t answer. He and the baby stared at each other. The girl gave a little hiccup but had, for the moment, ceased crying. Slowly, Ford held up his free hand, balancing the girl on his hip, and wiggled his fingers at her, testing her reaction. She grabbed his extra finger and giggled, and Ford looked at Fidds with a ridiculously happy grin. “I think she likes it.”

Fidds smiled back and looked at the child. “Heh, yeah. She does seem rather fond of ya. Ain't that right, Penelope?” he asked with a boop to her nose.

She frowned at him, puffing out her little cheeks, before turning back to Ford and babbling nonsense while she played with his fingers. Ford laughed. “I’m not sure she approves of nose boops.”

Fidds frowned and crossed his arms. “Well then she just has bad taste.” His expression returned to a grin. “Then again, she likes you.”

Ford nodded. “Yeah, she has very bad taste.” He winked at Fidds.

“How’s about some nice, fresh lemonade for--oh, Penelope finally stopped cryin’, then?” Jimmy said, pausing in the doorway with two tall glasses of lemonade.

“Yeah,” Ford replied with a grin. “I’m not sure how I’ll be able to drink lemonade while I’m holding her, though.”

“That’s alright, Minerva’ll take her. Minerva!” Jimmy called. “Come get Penelope from Stanferd, please!”

“Just a moment, honey! I think I know where the keys are!” Minerva answered. A few seconds later she returned with a large keychain. “Now how’d they get between the couch cushions?” she asked Jimmy accusingly, handing the keys to him before taking Penelope from Ford. She immediately began crying again.

Fidds barely held back a laugh at just how much the girl seemed to favor Stanford. “Well then, I s’pose we oughta stay fer a drink and then head out.”

“Here’s ta that, cousin!” Jimmy said, glancing at Minerva, who looked thoroughly exhausted. “We’d better get outta here soon, afore she explodes!” he added in a whisper, handing the glasses to Ford and Fidds.

Fidds quickly finished off his glass and carried it over to the sink himself. “Alright then!”

Ford followed suit and the three men quickly escaped the house, clambering into Jimmy’s small red car. “Let’s go,” Jimmy announced, starting the car and pulling out into the road.

* * *

“Alright, y’all,” Jimmy said, pulling into the long gravel driveway several hours later, “I’ve gotta run home now. Minerva’s gonna be completely beat by the time I get back. Good luck gettin’ ta Nashville!” He waited for the pair to climb out of the vehicle before waving and quickly steering the car back onto the road.

“Thanks again!” Fidds called after Jim before climbing the steps up to porch to his childhood home, where most every reunion was spent, the McGucket house. He knocked loudly, hoping it wasn't getting so late that a visit would be bothersome.

There was a very, very long pause. Ford shuffled, slightly anxious to meet even more strangers. Then, the door opened and a short, thin woman stood outlined in warm light. “Fiddleford?” she asked in a sweet-sounding voice. “What a surprise! Yer just in time for dinner!” She opened her arms to her son. “How’s about a hug for yer ma?”

“Nice ta see ya, Ma!” He happily hugged his mother with a smile. “I'm just stoppin’ by with a friend o’ mine. We’re on our way ta Nashville, but had problems with the car and, so,” he shrugged, “here we are.”

“Well, you and yer boyfriend can just step in and get yerselves seated, I was just servin’ up dinner--and don’t ya look at me like that, young man!” she added chidingly to Ford. “I know everythin’. No son can ever hide anythin’ from his ma--especially Fidds.” She winked at her son. “Ya nabbed yerself a fine one here.”

“Heh heh,” Fidds laughed nervously, running a hand through his hair, “Y-yeah well I sure think so.”

“Sally!” a voice called from another room, “Is that Fidds?”

“Yep!” the woman called over her shoulder. “And he’s brought someone!”

Ford made as if to tuck his hands behind his back but instead offered one to Sally. “Stanford Pines,” he said awkwardly.

“No need to be so formal!” the woman laughed, grabbing his hand to tug him into a hug. “Nice ta meet ya Stanferd! Now get yer butts in here for some dinner before ya starve ta death.” She led them into the house and to a large, crowded dining area. “Sit down, boys,” she instructed, leaving the room to get the food from the kitchen and leaving the young men to the gazes of about twelve other people.

Fidds sat down in an empty seat near the edge of the table with a free one next to him, careful to watch Ford and be sure he was comfortable. “Hey, everybody!” he called out to the rest at the table.

Ford joined Fidds at the table and smiled faintly at the people around him. “Hi,” he said simply.

Everyone was quiet. Then, a little boy of about six piped up and said, “Fidd, is that yer boyfriend?”

Fidds cleared his throat, seeing no point in lying and reassuringly placing a hand on Ford’s knee under the table. “Yes, he is.”

“He’s cute,” a freckled girl who looked to be about eleven remarked shyly. “I’m Eliza,” she added, sinking down in her seat.

Ford flushed but managed to say, “Thanks.”

Fidds chuckled. “Yeah, well I already got dibs, kiddo,” he teased.

The children at the table all laughed, and Ford smiled along. “I’m Ford,” he introduced himself, waving a hand.

“Wow! Do ya have six fingers?” the six-year-old boy exclaimed with an awestruck expression. “That’s so neat!”

Ford wiggled his fingers. “That’s right.”

“Why?” a slightly older girl asked curiously, leaning over the table with interest.

Ford shrugged. “Biology.”

“Wassat?” she continued to prod.

“Science. More specifically, the study of life.”

“Ooh,” the girl mused.

Fidds laughed. “I just dunno what it is with you and kids today.”

Ford shrugged again. “They’re just tiny humans.”

“I s’pose. Still a bit different.”

Heavy footsteps approached behind the couple as a tall man came up, placed a hand on Ford’s shoulder, and mussed Fidds’s hair. “Nice ta see ya, son. And nice ta meet yer date.” He smiled.

“Yeah yeah,” Fidds said as he tried to fix his sandy waves into a vague style, “Nice ta see you too, Pa.”

Ford glanced nervously at the man. “Hi.” He offered a hand to shake. “Stanford Pines.”

The man took Ford’s hand into a hearty handshake. “Nice ta meet ya, boy. The name’s Edward McGucket.”

Ford was proud of himself for being only a little self-conscious of his handshake, instead taking that time to be self-conscious of the rest of himself. Was his hair alright? Did he look presentable? Was he tall enough? Did his glasses make him look too nerdy? “Good to meet you, too,” he replied.

“Ed, darlin’, do sit down,” Sally called from the kitchen, “I’m bringin’ the food in right now. Did all you kiddos wash yer hands?”

“Yes,” the kids all cried out in unison followed by mixed titles of, “Ma,” and, “Aunt Sally.”

“‘Course, honey!” Ed replied as he found his seat at the head of the table. “So,” he turned back to Ford, “how'd ya meet my son?”

“We met in college, actually,” Ford said. “We shared a dorm room at Backupsmore University. Fidds and I would stay up studying, inventing, or playing games together. Last year, I realized I needed a lab assistant to help me out with some personal projects of mine--” here he shot a look at Fidds that said  _ ‘don’t mention the portal’ _ \-- “so naturally I called up the smartest person I knew, and we’ve been living together in Oregon until recently.”

“Very practical,” Edward said simply with an approving nod.

Ford let out a sigh of relief.  _ He approves. _

“Well,” Ed began, leaning forward onto the table, “Ya seem like a nice enough feller’ and I hope you two’re plenty happy tagether.”

Ford grinned. “I know I’m happy.”  _ All I can do is hope he doesn’t notice Fidds’s bruises. _

At that moment, Fiddleford’s mother--Sally--returned, staggering under the weight of a huge dish. “Pot roast and potatoes tonight,” she announced. The kids cheered.

“Absolutely wonderful, Sally,” Mr. McGucket commended, “As you always are.”

“Sounds delicious, Ma!” Fidds complimented.

“Thanks, boys,” she smiled, sitting down in her own chair. “Now, who wants to say grace tonight?”

“Ooh! Ooh!” A young boy shot up a hand. “Me! Me!”

“Go fer it, Joey,” Ma smiled. “Join hands, everyone!” 

Everyone held hands, Ford catching on awkwardly after a moment, and following the others’ leads as they bowed their heads and closed their eyes.

“Dear Lord,” the boy began, “Thank You fer this food… er daily bread… and fer Aunt Sally, and fer mommy, and fer daddy, and fer gramma, and fer my race car toy…” he continued seemingly endlessly on a tangent of everything he loved.

Ma cleared her throat.

The boy looked up, catching on to wrap it up. “And fer tv and Mr. Ford! Amen!”

Ford bit his lip to keep from laughing as the kid finished and everyone let go. Then there was a tablewide clamor to get first dibs on the pot roast in the dish. “Everyone, everyone!” Ma called. “We’re not animals!” She grinned. “If y’are, y’all can go out with the horses an’ the chickens and we’ll feed ya later.”

The table fell into a somewhat state of calm, which was basically just the previous chaos slowed down, everyone cautious not to upset Mrs. McGucket.

“Now,” Mrs. McGucket said calmly, “we’re gonna serve up for Mr. Ford first, because he’s a new guest here.” She looked at Ford. “Hand me yer plate, please, sweetpea.” Ford obeyed unhesitantly, and she served him a huge helping.

“Thank you, Mrs. McGucket,” Ford said graciously as she handed his dish back to him.

“None of that!” she scolded cheerily. “Call me Ma, everyone does.”

Ford made note of this.

Fidds smiled, always fond of family dinners. “So, Ma, anythin’ excitin’ happen since I last called?”

“Well,” she said, serving up another plate, “yer sister Marjorie is engaged, and May finally moved from her big ol’ lonely house to something a bit smaller. Yer Pa went to help her ‘couple days ago.”

“Marjorie?” Fidds asked, surprised, “Ta whom?”

“Nice young man,” Ma answered, “named Howard. Howard Tuck. Ya don’t come ‘round enough ta have met him, but he’s a botanist. Got huge gardens.”

“Huh. Sounds awful nice,” Fidds commented, filling up his plate, “Congrats ta her, then! Never much seemed like the marryin’ type ta me.”

“Yeah, it was completely unexpected,” Eliza chimed in, staring hungrily at her plate as Ma dished some up for her. “Always thought Marjie wasn’t int’rested in all that love stuff.”

Edward shrugged and spoke in a gruff voice with a smile towards his wife, “Guess the right kinda person can change yer mind ‘bout that sorta stuff.”

Ma’s rosy cheeks turned even more so and she very busily began concentrating on her task.

Ford, however, agreed, nudging Fidds with a grin. “I know what you mean, Mr. McGucket.”

Fidds, seeming to take after his mother, cleared his throat and kept his head down to hide an obvious grin and a bright blush.

Ed nodded with a smile, pleasantly surprised by Ford’s boldness. “Good ta hear,” he stated.

The chatter quieted down a bit when everyone was presented with their dinner, and Ford contented himself to mostly listening to the fluid sound around him while enjoying the warm house and good food. Topics floated past, things like television shows and news from the other ends of the family and friendly gossip, things that Ford didn’t understand but felt happy hearing about anyway. The organized chaos was oddly soothing.

Then, his ears picked up on a conversation.

“Hey, Ed,” Ma said quietly, directing her voice toward her husband in a way that the kids wouldn’t hear. “What d’you think?”

Pa nodded stoically. “I like ‘im,” he said simply, taking another drink from his beer.

Ma tilted her head towards Fidds. “Lookit his neck, hon.”

Pa’s eyes narrowed, but only for a quick glance, so as not to stare too long. He cleared his throat. “Certainly worth lookin’ into. Let’s not jump ta conclusions. Heaven knows what the kids’re up to with the whatnot.” He waved a hand in lieu of words.

Ma grimaced. “I just don’t want ‘im ta get hurt...more,” she said. “I mean, lookit that...it looks awful, Ed.”

“Like I said, honey,” he began with a tilt of his head, “we oughta look into it.”

She nodded. “After dinner.”

And the conversation ended.

Ford had a hard time eating after that.

* * *

Pa glanced at the couple as a few kids had volunteered to help clean up the dishes. “So,” he began, “Fidds, ya got an awful bruise there. Ev’rythin’ alright?”

Ford cringed. “Well you see,” he said nervously, “that’s a pretty long and very weird story.”

“Well, I got plenty o’ time,” Ed leaned forward slightly.

“O-oh, it’s nothin’.” Fidds waved a hand dismissively. “Just… an accident. When we were alone. Not a fight er nothin’! I’m fine, though.”

Pa raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

Ford flushed. “Y-yeah. Everything’s fine, I promise. Trust me, it upsets me too.” He glanced at Fidds. “He tells me I apologize too much for it though.”

“Because ya do.” Fidds nudged Ford with a smile before looking his father seriously in the eyes. “Pa, you know I’d tell ya if anythang was wrong.”

Edward, somewhat reluctantly, appeared to give in and slightly smiled back at Ford. “Alright, then. Just make sure that heals up real well.”

Ford nodded vigorously. “Don’t worry, I will.”

“Good,” Mr. McGucket replied, still watching cautiously.

Ford waited until Ed had walked away before turning to look at Fidds. “That was way too close,” he said.

Then, a resounding  _ slap _ echoed in Ford’s head and his head snapped sideways. The sting came a second later, causing him to yelp. “I want ta know  _ exactly _ what happened ta my Fidds!” Ma demanded furiously. “You  _ lied!  _ I know a lie when I see one!”

Ford rubbed his cheek and looked at her with a stunned expression. “Ow,” he complained.

She crossed her arms and looked at her son. “Well?” she asked sharply.

Fidds bit his lip harshly, almost about to just continue with the lie, but, absolutely terrified of the wrath of Ma, eventually blurting out, “Stanferd has a demon in his head that took him over and strangled me, but some hippies gave us a crystal and we have it under control now!”

She stared first at Fiddleford, then at Stanford, before huffing and saying, “It’s too ridiculous ta not believe. But why on  _ earth _ do ya have a  _ demon _ in yer head?” She shook her head. “It’s the darn counterculture,” she complained. “Suddenly everyone’s smokin’ and strippin’ and summonin’ demons. I don’t get it.”

Fidds was about to explain that at least he didn’t  _ strip _ , but decided against it. “Um, yeah, but it’s alright now! And he didn’t do this.” He gestured to his neck. “It was just… the demon thang.”

“Yeah,” Ford nodded. “He can’t do anything but talk now. He likes to pretend he knows your deepest darkest secrets but he’s just childish and petty. I think we can handle him now that I know what we’re dealing with.”

Ma gaped at the young men. “I don’t know how young people today survive,” she said in a rather appalled voice. “But, you two say ya have it under control, then ya have it under control.” She shrugged, accepting the inevitable. “Just...ask me if ya need anything, alright, boys?”

“Yes’m,” Fidds agreed, nodding anxiously and rapidly.

She turned and walked away, muttering about counterculture and hippies and demons.

“Okay, now  _ that _ was too close,” Ford muttered, still rubbing his cheek. “That  _ hurt. _ ”

“Aw, come ‘ere, now, darlin’.” Fidds pulled Ford in for a quick kiss on the cheek and offered a slight smile. “Better?”

Ford nodded a little. “Sure.” He returned the smile and said, “I guess we’re staying the night. Your mother probably won’t let anyone take us to Nashville until the morning.”

“Heh, yeah,” Fidds agreed, “And I imagine she’ll be watchin’ us the whole time. Just ta be sure.”

Ford cringed. “I’m not looking forward to that at all.”

Fidds shrugged. “Nah, but as long as nothin’ happens, ya won’t git slapped again.”

Grimacing, Ford rubbed at his face again. “That gives me little hope for surviving in this household.”

* * *

Rick kicked his feet up onto the dashboard as he lit another cigarette, holding it carefully between his teeth as he took a long, deep drag. He coughed a bit in a cloud of smoke as he asked, “H-how much longer till we’re there?”

Stan shrugged. “Maybe another couple hours.” He glanced at the man beside him. “I’m hopin’ to make it to New Jersey within the next few days.”

“I-it would be nice to f-finally get there.” He yawned with a stretch, not much bothering for personal space as a hand brushed the side of Stanley’s head, just grazing along his hair. “I-I'd also like to, y-you know, sleep.”

“Ugh, yeah, sorry ‘bout that,” Stan sighed. “I was sure we’d lost those guys at that last motel.” He frowned. “Rico’s pretty pissed at me, but… I didn’t do anything. I mean, what’s up with this? Every single time someone tells me I screwed up, it’s ‘cause of some accident or somethin’ I didn’t even do.” He gripped the steering wheel tighter. “Don’t know if Ford’s even followin’ me, ‘r why he would be. ‘S far as I know, he hates me.”

Rick shrugged with a slight sigh, trying to make it seem like he didn't care. And he didn't, he reassured himself. “W-why don't you call him from some payphone? I-if nobody answers then…” He waved a hand to suggest the rest didn't need explained. “B-besides, don't people like y-you have some s-sort of thing about family? F-figure that would be reason enough.” He looked away. “B-but I don't know.”

Stan shook his head. “I don’t know if Stanford even considers me family anymore. Not after what he thinks I did.”

Rick looked at Stan inquisitively through the corner of his eye, not trying to seem too invested in this man’s emotions.  _ And I'm not _ , he continued to think. “D-did you do it?” he asked.

“No! Yes! I don’t know!” Stan slammed a hand on the rim of the steering wheel. “It was an accident!”

“A bad one?” Rick continued prodding.

Stan let out a sound somewhere between a huff and a snarl. “Got me kicked out.”

Rick smirked with a halfhearted chuckle of sorts. “G-guess we got something i-in common.”

Stan’s previously tense shoulders slumped. “When’d it happen to you?”

Rick took another drag, making his voice sound gruffer through the smoke. “Seventeen,” he stated plainly, “Y-you?”

“Same.” Stan’s voice was flat. “Dad always kinda didn’t like me, guess I finally made him snap then. Didn’t even finish high school.”

Rick shook his head. “My dad’s long gone. M-mom kind of w-wasn't the same. A-at some point, she just got tired of the smoking, a-and parties, and my… particular lifestyle.” He took another drag. Sighed. “Still managed to get my GED. G-graduated early.”

Stan laughed bitterly. “Another over-achiever like my brother, huh?”

“But n-not the kind to just let a guy g-get kicked out.” Rick crossed his arms.

That comment made Stan’s face grow dark. “Yeah. Unlike Ford.”

Rick just nodded silently in reply, not really building up the best impression of this brother, but also not wanting to say anything to hurt Stan’s feelings. Not that he cared; argument would just make the trip less enjoyable. Clearly.

Stan drove them in silence, his thoughts in turmoil. Questions arose which he hadn’t asked of himself in a long time. He kept looking over at the guy next to him, reclined easily with his feet on the dashboard and a cigarette between his thin lips, and finding it hard to make his eyes look back at the road. Finally, he decided to speak again. “Hey, uh. You know… thanks for listenin’. Or whatever.” He clamped his mouth tight shut again, hunching his shoulders.

Rick glanced over at Stan when he spoke. He noticed his gaze affixed in his direction. Really an unsafe way to drive, but certainly more fun and flattering. Rick smiled, but decided not to comment. “D-don't mention it.” Instead, he just thought it might be fun to give him more to look at. The next drag he exhaled slowly, in a smooth stream, head tilted back. He scratched at his chest, purposefully pulling the neckline down a bit further.

Stan’s face went beet red and he turned back to the road very quickly.

Rick laughed quickly, noticing this. He yawned again and stared out the window into a starless night.

When Stan’s voice started working again, he muttered, “You did that on purpose.”

Rick raised an eyebrow and turned his head toward Stan, playing innocent, even with a revealing smile. “D-did what?”

Stan growled. “You know!”

“I'm just getting comfortable!” Rick defended himself, throwing up his hands, “I-it's not m-my fault if you find me  _ distracting _ .”

“I do not!” Stan lied.

“O-oh really?” Rick asked skeptically, clearly seeing the blush on Stan’s face.

Stan couldn’t stop himself. “Well… okay, maybe a  _ little _ \--” he cringed. “ _ But it’s not because I’m gay for you _ !”

Rick hardly managed to stifle a laugh. For as long as he'd been out, someone so deep in the closet was a rare case. He didn't even know it was a closet in the first place. “I-i didn't say you were gay!” he clarified, “Perhaps just… m-more like a saloon door.” He demonstrated by swinging a long, thin finger back and forth, both ways.

Stan watched the finger move out of the corner of his eye. “I don’t get it.”

Rick sighed, disappointed but not entirely surprised. “I-I'm suggesting bisexuality, L-lee!  _ Swinging both ways _ ?”

“That’s… that’s a thing?”

Rick smiled. “S-sure is. Kind of w-what I've got going on.”

“Wait. Wait, wait, wait. You’re tellin’ me that somebody can… can like both? And be okay with… screwin’ either one?” He shook his head disbelievingly. “That’s crazy.”

“W-what's crazy is expecting s-someone to always be able to choose.” Rick looked at Stan, eyes full of interest. “The universe i-is free. Y-you can ‘screw’ whatever type of human y-you want.”

“What the fuck,” Stan said, voice full of awe.

Rick shrugged. “Fuck w-who you want. That's kind of the point.”

“So… if I….” Stan bit his lip. “If I wanted to….” He stopped. He felt his face turn bright red. “Never mind.”

Disappointed he'd stopped, Rick stretched again with a forced yawn, allowing his hand to more obviously trail along Stan’s shoulder and bicep before pulling back. “Y-you sure about that? I-it's always good to ask questions.”

Stan shivered at the touch. “It’s nothing. It’s just that…”  _ Alright, Stan. You got this. You can tell this guy he’s cute. _ “If I thought you were….I mean, if I thought that you were really sexy--Shit!” He smacked the dashboard. “I just fucked everything up.”

Without even thinking, Rick quickly pulled his feet back to the floor and lunged forward to place his hand over Stan’s on the dashboard. For a moment, he paused. Actually thought through what he'd done. Finally, he spoke softly, “I’d say I think the same about you.”

Stan’s hand trembled under Rick’s.  _ Oh my god oh my god oh my god he’s touching my hand-- _ He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t move. He just kept driving, the point of contact between them launching him into a dreamlike state where he was just immersed in this feeling of euphoric panic.

Rick slowly ran his thumb across the back of Stan’s dry, shaking hand. He smiled with just a hint of nervousness. “Hoping j-just hand holding i-isn't too overwhelming for you.”

“Nope,” Stan managed to croak.

He turned the steering wheel a little harder than he was intending and the car screeched through an exit with a smell of burning rubber.  _ Almost there. _

“Shit!” Rick cursed, his hand reflexively tightening its grasp over Stan’s. He didn't even notice until a moment later just how tightly his fingers were gripping the other man. He quickly let go and retracted his arm. “S-sorry,” he muttered.

Stan’s eyes hunted for a motel. They’d leave a clue at a landmark the next day, he decided. Right now, he had to find a place that had at least one bed. Finally, his gaze settled on a brightly-lit sign that said “Lantern Inn” and he made a beeline for it.

Their check-in went by in a blur. Somehow they managed to get their keys and stumble to their room before Stan was shoving Rick against the door and crashing their lips together in a thunderstorm of feelings and tastes. And it was  _ so much better _ than Carla McCorkle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to find our tumblrs, themindofcc and boat-nectar1!

**Author's Note:**

> Leave us some kindness in the comments if you liked this!


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